[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?