_Fab._ I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting here. _Sir To._ To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue:--Shall we not, Sir Andrew? _Sir And._ An we do not, it is pity of our lives. _Enter_ MARIA, _with a Letter_. _Sir To._ Here comes the little villain:--How now, my nettle of India? _Mar._ Get ye all three behind yon clump: Malvolio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder i' the sun, practising behaviour 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! [_The men hide themselves._]--Lie thou there; [_Throws down a letter._] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. [_Exit_ MARIA. _Enter_ MALVOLIO. _Mal._ '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? _Sir To._ Here's an over-weening rogue! _Fab._ Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his advanced plumes! _Sir And._ 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue:-- _Mal._ To be Count Malvolio;-- _Sir To._ Ah, rogue! _Sir And._ Pistol him, pistol him. _Sir To._ Peace, peace! _Mal._ There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. _Sir And._ Fie on him, Jezebel! _Fab._ Now he's deeply in; look, how imagination blows him. _Mal._ Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,-- _Sir To._ O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! _Mal._ Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown;--having come from a day-bed, where I left Olivia sleeping;-- _Sir To._ Fire and brimstone! _Fab._ O peace, peace! _Mal._ 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 ask for my kinsman Toby:-- _Sir To._ Bolts and shackles! _Fab._ O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. _Mal._ Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich jewel. Toby approaches: courtsies 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?