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 Neice do more Favours to the Duke's Serving-man, than ever she bestow'd upon 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 Jury-men, since before Noah was a Sailor.

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 Isickle on a Dutchman's Beard, unless you do redeem it by some Attempt, either of Valour or Policy.

Sir And.

And'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 Neice shall take Note of it, and assure thy self, there is no Love-broker in the World can more prevail in Mens Commendation with Women, than Report of Valour.

Fab.

There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

Sir An.

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 License of Ink; if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many Lies as will lye 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, tho' thou write it with a Goose-Pen, no matter: About it.

Sir An.

Where shall I find you?

Sir To.

We'll call thee at the Cubiculo: Go.

Fab.

This is a dear Manakin to you, Sir Toby.

Sir To.

I have been dear to him, Lad, some two thousand strong, or so.

Fab.

We shall have a rare Letter from him; but you'll not deliver't.

Sir To.

Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the Youth to an Answer. I think Oxen and Wain-ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find so much Blood in his Liver as will clog the Foot of a Flea, I'll eat the rest of th' Anatomy.

Fab.

And his Opposite the Youth bears in his Visage no great Presage of Cruelty.

Sir To.

Look where the youngest Wren of mine comes.

Mar.

If you desire the Spleen, and will laugh your selves into Stitches, follow me; yond gull Malvolio is turned Heathen, a very Renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be sav'd by believing rightly, can ever believe such impossible Passages of Grossness. He's in yellow Stockings.

Sir To.

And Cross-garter'd?

Mar.

Most villanously; like a Pedant that keeps a School i'th' Church: I have dog'd him like his Murtherer. He does obey every Point of the Letter that I dropt to betray him; he does smile his Face into more Lines than is in the new Map, with the Augmentation of the Indies; you have not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my Lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and tak't for a great Favour.

Sir To.

Come, bring us, bring us where he is.