letters are in my name. Soft! here follows prose.
-- [Reads] 'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am
above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some are born great,
some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.
Thy Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace
them; and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy
humble slough and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly
with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put
thyself into the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee that
sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and
wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd. I say, remember. Go to,
thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee
a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch
Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with
thee,
THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.

Daylight and champain discovers not more; this is open. I will be
proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I
will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very
man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for
every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did
commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being
cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her
liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout,
in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness
of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a
postscript.