With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore:
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.

FABIAN.
A fustian riddle!

SIR TOBY.
Excellent wench, say I.

MALVOLIO.
'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, but first, let me see, let
me see, let me see.

FABIAN.
What dish o' poison has she dress'd him!

SIR TOBY.
And with what wing the staniel checks at it!

MALVOLIO.
'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command me; I serve
her; she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity;
there is no obstruction in this: and the end,-- what should that
alphabetical position portend? if I could make that resemble
something in me!-- Softly! M, O, A, I,--

SIR TOBY.
O, ay, make up that; he is now at a cold scent.

FABIAN.