[Enter MARIA.]

SIR TOBY.
Here comes the little villain.
How now, my metal of India!

MARIA.
Get ye all three into the box-tree; Malvolio's coming down this
walk. He has been yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to his
own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery;
for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him.
Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there [throws down a
letter], for here comes the trout that must be caught with
tickling.
[Exit.]

[Enter MALVOLIO.]

MALVOLIO.
'T is but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me she did
affect me; and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should
she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses
me with a more exalted respect than any one else that follows
her. What should I think on 't?

SIR TOBY.
Here 's an overweening rogue!

FABIAN.
O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he