MALVOLIO. M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the former; and yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose. -- [Reads] 'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY. Daylight and champain discovers not more; this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a postscript. [Reads] Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee. Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou wilt have me. [Exit.] FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. SIR TOBY. I could marry this wench for this device. SIR ANDREW. So could I too. SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. SIR ANDREW. Nor I neither. FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. [Re-enter MARIA.] SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? SIR ANDREW. Or o' mine either? SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave? SIR ANDREW. I' faith, or I either? SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it leaves him he must run mad. MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.