_Sir To._ Ay, Biddy, come with me.--What, man! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: Hang him, foul collier! _Mar._ Get him to say his prayers, Sir Toby. _Mal._ My prayers, minx? _Mar._ No, I warrant you, he'll not hear of godliness. _Mal._ Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow things: I am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter. Begone. Ha! ha! ha! [_Exit_ MALVOLIO. _Omnes._ Ha! ha! ha! _Sir To._ Is't possible? _Fab._ If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. _Sir To._ His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man. _Mar._ Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take air, and taint. _Fab._ Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. _Mar._ The house will be the quieter. _Sir To._ Come, we'll have him in a dark room, and bound.--Follow him, and let him not from thy sight. [_Exit_ MARIA. But see, but see. _Fab._ More matter for a May morning. _Enter_ SIR ANDREW, _with a Letter_. _Sir And._ Here's the challenge, read it; I warrant, there's vinegar and pepper in't. _Fab._ Is't so saucy? _Sir And._ Ay, is it, I warrant him: do but read. _Sir To._ Give me.--[_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow._ _Fab._ Good and valiant. _Sir To._ _Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't._ _Fab._ A good note; that keeps you from the blow of the law. _Sir To._ _Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in thy throat, that is not the matter I challenge thee for._ _Fab._ Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. _Sir To._ _I will way-lay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me_,-- _Fab._ Good. _Sir To._ _Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain._ _Fab._ Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: Good. _Sir To._ _Fare thee well; and heaven have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy_, ANDREW AGUECHEEK.--If this letter move him not, his legs cannot: I'll give't him. _Fab._ You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart. _Sir To._ Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the garden, like a bum-bailiff; so soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and, as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twang'd off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away. _Sir And._ Nay, let me alone for swearing. [_Exit_ SIR ANDREW.