_Mal._ At your request? Yes; Nightingales answer daws. _Mar._ Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? _Mal._ _Be not afraid of greatness_:--'Twas well writ. _Oli._ What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio? _Mal._ _Some are born great_,-- _Oli._ Ha? _Mal._ _Some achieve greatness_,-- _Oli._ What say'st thou? _Mal._ _ And some have greatness thrust upon them._ _Oli._ Heaven restore thee! _Mal._ _Remember who commended thy yellow stockings_;-- _Oli._ Thy yellow stockings? _Mal_ _And wished to see thee cross-garter'd._ _Oli._ Cross-garter'd? _Mal._ _Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest to be so_;-- _Oli._ Am I made? _Mal._ _If not, let me see thee a servant still._ _Oli._ Why, this is very Midsummer madness. _Enter_ FABIAN. _Fab._ Madam, the young gentleman of the Duke Orsino's is returned; I could hardly entreat him back: he attends your ladyship's pleasure. _Oli._ I'll come to him. Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd to.--Call my uncle Toby. [_Exit_ FABIAN. Let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. [_Exeunt_ OLIVIA _and_ MARIA. _Mal._ Oh, ho! do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to me? She sends him on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. I have limed her.--And, when she went away now, _Let this fellow be looked to_:--Fellow! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing adheres together.--Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. _Sir To._ [_Without_] Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him. _Enter_ FABIAN, SIR TOBY, _and_ MARIA. _Fab._ Here he is, here he is:--How is't with you, sir? how is't with you, man? _Mal._ Go off, I discard you; let me enjoy my private; go off. _Mar._ Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not I tell you?--Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him. _Mal._ Ah, ha! does she so? _Sir To._ Go to, go to; we must deal gently with him. How do you, Malvolio? how is't with you? What, man! defy the devil: consider, he's an enemy to mankind. _Mal._ Do you know what you say? _Mar._ La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray, heaven, he be not bewitch'd. _Fab._ Carry his water to the wise woman. _Sir To._ Pr'ythee, hold thy peace; do you not see, you move him? let me alone with him. _Fab._ No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. _Sir To._ Why, how now, my bawcock? how dost thou, chuck? _Mal._ Sir?