“That’s me, I warrant you,” put in Sir Andrew.
“One Sir Andrew——”
“I knew it was I, for many call me fool,” said Sir Andrew, quite pleased at his own penetration.
But Malvolio’s imaginary rebuke to Sir Toby came abruptly to an end, for he now caught sight of the letter which Maria had thrown on the ground.
“What have we here? By my life, this is my lady’s hand; these are her very C’s, her U’s, and her T’s; and thus she makes her great P’s. Beyond all question it is her hand.” Then Malvolio read aloud the inscription: “‘To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes.’ Her very phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! And the impression her own seal! It is my lady. To whom should this be?”
The letter was written in the most nonsensical terms, but Malvolio at once began to puzzle a meaning into it.
“Jove knows I love: But who? Lips do not move; No man must know.”
“‘No man must know,’” he echoed. “If this should be thee, Malvolio!”
“I may command where I adore; But silence, like a Lucrece knife, With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore, M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.”
Malvolio pondered deeply over these mystic lines. “I may command where I adore” was, of course, quite simple. Olivia might command him, for he was her servant. But what about the letters M, O, A, I?