Mar.

What a catterwauling do you keep, here? if my lady have not call'd up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.

Sir To.

My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I consanguineous? am not I of her blood? Tilly valley, lady! there dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady* ^note.

Clo.

Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Sir And.

Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.

Mar.

For the love o'God, peace.

Mal.

My masters, are you mad? or what are you? have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? do you make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your † ^notecosiers catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?

Sir To.

We did keep time, Sir, in our catches. Sneak up!

Mal.

Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that tho' she harbours you as her

uncle, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house: if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewel.

Sir To.

Farewel, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.

Mal.

Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clo.

His eyes do show his days are almost done.

Mal.

Is't even so.

Sir To.

But I will never die.

Clo.

Sir Toby, there you lie.

Mal.

This is much credit to you.

Sir To.

Sir, you lie: art thou any more than a steward? dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo.

Yes, by St. Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'th' mouth, too.

Sir To.

Thou'rt i' th' right. Go, Sir, rub your chin with crums. A stoop of wine, Maria.

Mal.

Mrs. Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour, at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.

Mar.

Go, shake your ears.

Sir And.

'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field, and then to break promise with him, and make a fool of him.

Sir To.

Do't, knight, I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll deliver thy indignation to him, by word of mouth.

Mar.

Sweet Sir Toby, be patient, for to-night; since the youth of the duke's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him into a nay word, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know I can do it.

Sir To.

Possess us, possess us, tell us something of him.

Mar.

Marry, Sir, sometimes he is a kind of a puritan.

Sir And.

O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.

Sir To.

What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?

Sir And.

I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.

Mar.

The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing, constantly, but a time-pleaser, an affected ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great * ^noteswaths. The best persuaded of himself: so cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, that all that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him, will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir To.

What wilt thou do?

Mar.

I will drop in his way, some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir To.

Excellent! I smell a device.

Sir And.

I hav't in my nose, too.

Sir To.

He shall think by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that she is in love with him.

Mar.

My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour.

Sir And.

And your horse now would make him an ass.

Mar.

Ass, I doubt not.

Sir And.

O, 'twill be admirable.

Mar.

Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physick will work with him. I will plant you two, and let Fabian make a third, where he shall find the letter: observe his construction of it: for this night to bed, and dream on the event. Farewel.

Sir To.

Good night, Penthesilea.

Sir And.

Before me, she's a good wench.

Sir To.

She's a beagle, true bred, and one that adores me; what o'that?

Sir And.

I was ador'd once, too.

Sir To.

Let's to bed, knight: thou had'st need send for more money.

Sir And.

If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Sir To.

Send for money, knight: if thou hast her not i'th' end, call me Cut.

Sir And.

If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir To.

Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go to bed, now: come, knight, come, knight.