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SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I'm sure, care's an enemy to life.
Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to
your ill hours.
Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted.
Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.
Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer.
Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?
Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool and a prodigal.
Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-degambo, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.
Mar. He hath, indeed, -almost natural: for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and subtracters, that say so of him. Who are they?
Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward, and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano volto; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.
Enter SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch ? Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew ! Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.
Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
Mar. My name is Mary, sir. .
Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.
Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost ?
Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again.
Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand ?
Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.
Mar. Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.
Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor ? Mar. It's dry, sir.
Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest ?
Mar. A dry jest, sir.
Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends : marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Erit MARIA.
Sir. To. O knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down?
Sir. And. Never in your life, I think ; unless you see canary put me down : Methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit.
Sir To. No question.
Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.
Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight?
had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: 0, had I but followed the arts !
Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair!
Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs and spin it off.
Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself
, here hard by, wooes her. Sir To. She'll none o' the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man.
Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.
Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight?
Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man.
Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.
Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in ? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.
Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colored stock. Shall we set about some revels ?
Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?
Sir And. Taurus ? that's sides and heart.
Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper; ha! higher: ha, ha! - excellent!
SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke's Palace.
Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire. Val. If the duke continue these favors towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.
Vio. You either fear his humor, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favors ? Val. No, believe me.
Enter DUKE, CURIO, and Attendants.
Here comes the count.
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — Cesario,
Sure, my noble lord,
Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord; what then?
Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Vio. I think not so, my lord.
Dear lad, believe it ;
I'll do my best To woo your lady: yet [aside] a barful strife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter MARIA and Clown. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.
Clo. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colors.
Mar. Make that good.
Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colors.
Clo. Where, good mistress Mary?
Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent: or, to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to
Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.
Mar. You are resolute then ?
Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall.
Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt! Well, go thy way: if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.
Mar. Peace, you rogue ; no more o' that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. [Exit.
Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO. Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling ! Those wits that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man : For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady!
Oli. Take the fool away.
Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.