O.A.I. doth
sway my life
Fa. A fustian riddle
To. Excellent Wench, say I
Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but first
let me see, let me see, let me see
Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him?
To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it?
Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee may
command me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this is
euident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstruction
in this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall position
portend, if I could make that resemble something
in me? Softly, M.O.A.I
To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent
Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it bee
as ranke as a Fox
Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name
Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curre
is excellent at faults
Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequell
that suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O.
does
Fa. And O shall end, I hope
To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O
Mal. And then I. comes behind
Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you might
see more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes before
you
Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former:
and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for euery
one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here followes
prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my stars
I am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Some
are become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and some
haue greatnesse thrust vppon em.
Pages:
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950