FABIAN.
This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY.
I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.
FABIAN.
We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver 't?
SIR TOBY. Never trust me, then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wain-ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th' anatomy.
FABIAN. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.
SIR TOBY.
Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.
[Enter MARIA.]
MARIA. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turn'd heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian, that means to be sav'd by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings.
SIR TOBY.
And cross-garter'd?
MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th' church. I have dogg'd him, like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray him; he does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies: you have not seen such a thing as 't is. I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and take 't for a great favour.