_Fab._ We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver it? _Sir To._ Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy. _Fab._ And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty. _Sir To._ Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes. _Enter_ MARIA. _Mar._ If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me: yon gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. _Sir To._ And cross-gartered? _Mar._ Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' the church.--I have dogg'd him, like his murderer: He does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines, than are in a map: you have not seen such a thing as 'tis. _Sir To._ Come, bring us, bring us where he is. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE 1. _A Room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_. _Enter_ OLIVIA _and_ MARIA. _Oli._ I have sent after him:--He says, he'll come. How shall I feast him? what bestow on him? I speak too loud.---- Where is Malvolio? _Mar._ He's coming, madam; But in strange manner. He is sure possessed. _Oli._ Why, what's the matter? does he rave? _Mar._ No, madam, He does nothing but smile: your ladyship Were best have guard about you, if he come; For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. _Oli._ Go call him hither. [_Exit_ MARIA. I'm as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be.-- _Enter_ MALVOLIO, _in yellow Stockings, cross-garter'd, and_ MARIA. How now, Malvolio? _Mal._ Sweet lady, ho, ho. [_Smiles fantastically._ _Oli._ Smilest thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. _Mal._ Sad, lady? I could be sad: This does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering: But what of that? if it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: _Please one, and please all_. _Oli._ Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee? _Mal._ Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs.--It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman hand. _Oli._ Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? _Mal._ To bed!--Ay, sweet-heart; and I'll come to thee. _Oli._ Heaven comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft? _Mar._ How do you, Malvolio?