MALVOLIO.
How now, mistress!
MARIA.
O Lord!
SIR TOBY.
Prithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move him? Let me alone with him.
FABIAN.
No way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used.
SIR TOBY.
Why, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck?
MALVOLIO.
Sir!
SIR TOBY.
Ay, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier!
MARIA.
Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.
MALVOLIO.
My prayers, minx?
MARIA.
No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.