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Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to

Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to.
Where’s my Cousin Toby? Let some of my people
have a special care of him. I would not have him
miscarry for the half of my dowry.
 Olivia and Maria exit in different directions.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could
condemn it as an improbable fiction.

O ho, do you come near me now? No worse
man than Sir Toby to look to me. This concurs
directly with the letter. She sends him on purpose
that I may appear stubborn to him, for she incites
me to that in the letter: “Cast thy humble slough,”
says she. “Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with
servants; let thy tongue tang with arguments of
state; put thyself into the trick of singularity,” and
consequently sets down the manner how: as, a sad
face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit
of some Sir of note, and so forth. I have limed her,
but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful!
And when she went away now, “Let this fellow be
looked to.” “Fellow!” Not “Malvolio,” nor after my
degree, but “fellow.” Why, everything adheres together,
that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a
scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe
circumstance—what can be said? Nothing that can
be can come between me and the full prospect of
my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and
he is to be thanked.
 Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all
the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion
himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to him.
Here he is, here he is.—How is ’t with you, sir?
How is ’t with you, man?
Go off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off.
Maria, to Toby
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.
Aha, does she so?
Toby, to Fabian and Maria
Go to, go to! Peace, peace. We must deal gently with
him. Let me alone.—How do you, Malvolio? How is ’t
with you? What, man, defy the devil! Consider, he’s an
enemy to mankind.
Do you know what you say?
Maria, to Toby
La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart!
Pray God he be not bewitched!
Carry his water to th’ wisewoman.
Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning
if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I’ll say.
How now, mistress?
O Lord!
Prithee, hold thy peace. This is not the way. Do
you not see you move him? Let me alone with him.
No way but gentleness, gently, gently. The
fiend is rough and will not be roughly used.
Toby, to Malvolio
Why, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?
Ay, biddy, come with me.—What, man, ’tis not
for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang
him, foul collier!
Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby; get
him to pray.
My prayers, minx?
Maria, to Toby
No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
Go hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow
things. I am not of your element. You shall
know more hereafter.
 He exits.
Is ’t possible?
If this were played upon a stage now, I could
condemn it as an improbable fiction.
His very genius hath taken the infection of the
device, man.
Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air
and taint.
Why, we shall make him mad indeed.
The house will be the quieter.
Come, we’ll have him in a dark room and
bound. My niece is already in the belief that he’s
mad. We may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his
penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath,
prompt us to have mercy on him, at which time we
will bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a
finder of madmen. But see, but see!

Act 3
Scene 4
Line 65

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