theme.
To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay.
Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport,
let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly
rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?
I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o'
favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.
To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will
fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew?
An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Here comes the little villain.
How now, my metal of India!
Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's
coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the
sun practising behavior to his own shadow this half
hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I
know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of
him. Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there,
for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told
me she did affect me: and I have heard herself come
thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one
of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more
exalted respect than any one else that follows her.
What should I think on't?
Here's an overweening rogue!
O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock
of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes!
'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!
Peace, I say.
To be Count Malvolio!
Ah, rogue!
Pistol him, pistol him.
Peace, peace!
There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
married the yeoman of the wardrobe.
Fie on him, Jezebel!
O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how
imagination blows him.
Having been three months married to her, sitting in
my state,--
O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!
Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet
gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left
Olivia sleeping,--
Fire and brimstone!
O, peace, peace!
And then to have the humour of state; and after a
demure travel of regard, telling them I know my
place as I would they should do theirs, to for my
kinsman Toby,--
Bolts and shackles!
O peace, peace, peace! now, now.
Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make
out for him: I frown the while; and