MALVOLIO. And then to have the humour of state; and, after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know my place, as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby,—
SIR TOBY.
Bolts and shackles!
FABIAN.
O, peace, peace, peace! now, now.
MALVOLIO. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and perchance wind up my watch, or play with my— some rich jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me,—
SIR TOBY.
Shall this fellow live?
FABIAN.
Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.
MALVOLIO. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control,—
SIR TOBY.
And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips, then?
MALVOLIO. Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech,'—
SIR TOBY.
What, what?