Toby approaches; curtsies there to me –

SIR TO. Shall this fellow live?

FAB. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

MAL. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control –

SIR TO. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

MAL. Saying, »Cousin Toby, my fortunes, having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech« –

SIR TO. What, what?

MAL. »You must amend your drunkenness.«

SIR TO. Out, scab!

FAB. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot!

MAL. »Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight« –

SIR AND. That's me, I warrant you.

MAL. »One Sir Andrew« –

SIR AND. I knew 'twas I, for many do call me fool.

MAL. What employment have we here?

 

[Taking up the letter.]

 

FAB. Now is the woodcock near the gin.

SIR TO. O, peace, and the spirit of humors intimate reading aloud to him!

MAL. By my life, this is my lady's hand. These be her very c's, her u's, and her t's, and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

SIR AND. Her c's, her u's, and her t's: why that?

MAL [Reads.] »To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes«: – her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! And the impressure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal. 'Tis my lady. To whom should this be?

FAB. This wins him, liver and all.

MAL [Reads.]

»Jove knows I love,

But who?

Lips, do not move;

No man must know.«

»No man must know.« What follows? The numbers alter'd! »No man must know.« If this should be thee, Malvolio?

SIR TO. Marry, hang thee, brock!

MAL [Reads.]

»I may command where I adore,

But silence, like a Lucrece knife,

With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore;

M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.«

FAB. A fustian riddle!

SIR TO. Excellent wench, say I.

MAL. »M.O.A.I.