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?
Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me.—What, man! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: Hang him, foul collier!