Fabian.
Sir And.
No, 'faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir To.
Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
Fab.
You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
Sir And.
Marry, I saw your niece do more favours
to the duke's serving-man, than ever she bestow'd on
me. I saw't, i'th' orchard.
Sir To.
Did she see thee the while, old boy, tell
me that?
Sir And.
As plain as I see you now.
Fab.
This was a great argument of love in her,
toward you.
Sir And.
'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?
Fab.
I prove it legitimate, Sir, upon the oaths of
judgment and reason.
Sir To.
And they have been grand jurymen, since
before Noah was a sailor.
-- 354 --
Fab.
She did shew favour to the youth in your
sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse
valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone
in your liver. You should then have accosted
her, and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the
mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbness.
This was look'd for, at your hand, and this
was baulkt. The double gilt of this opportunity,
you let time wash off, and you are now sail'd into
the north of my lady's opinion, where you will hang,
like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do
redeem it by some attempt, either of valour or
policy.
Sir And.
An't be any way, it must be with valour,
for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist,
as a politician.
Sir To.
Why then build me thy fortunes upon the
basis of valour; challenge me the duke's youth to
fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; my niece
shall take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no
love-broker in the world, can more prevail in man's
commendation with women, than report of valour.
Fab.
There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
Sir And.
Will either of you bear me a challenge
to him?
Sir To.
Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst
and brief: it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent,
and full of invention; taunt him with the
licence of ink; if thou thou'st him some thrice, it
shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in
thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big
enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em
down, and go about it. Let there be gall enough
in thy ink, though thou write it with a goose pen,
no matter: about it.
Sir And.
Where shall I find you?
Sir To.
We'll call thee at thy Cubiculo: go.
[Exit Sir Andrew.
-- 355 --
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
