Sir T.

What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am 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 T.

Why, let her except, before excepted.

Mar.

Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.

Sir T.

Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these cloaths are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an 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 T.

Who? sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

Mar.

Ay, he.

Sir T.

He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

Mar.

What's that to the purpose?

Sir T.

Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

Mar.

Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.

Sir T.

Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o'the violde-gambo, 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 T.

By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they?

Mar.

They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

Sir T.

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, ^note that will not drink to my niece, 'till his brains turn o'the toe like a parish top. What, wench? Castiliano volto ^note;14Q0432 for here comes sir Andrew Ague-face.

Sir A.

Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby Belch?

Sir T.

Sweet sir Andrew!

Sir A.

Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar.

And you too, sir.

Sir T.

Accost, sir Andrew, accost.

Sir A.

What's that?

Sir T.

My niece's chamber-maid.

Sir A.

Good ^note mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

Mar.

My name is Mary, sir.

Sir A.

Good mistress Mary Accost,—

Sir T.

You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.

Sir A.

By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?

Mar.

Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir T.

An thou let part ^note so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again.

Sir A.

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.

Sir A.

Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

Mar.

Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery bar, and let it drink.

Sir A.

Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor?

Mar.

It's dry, sir.

Sir A.

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.

Sir A.

Are you full of them?

Mar.

Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.

Sir T.

O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary; When did I see thee so put down?

Sir A.

Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me ^note 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 T.

No question.

Sir A.

An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby.

Sir T.

Pourquoy, my dear knight?

Sir A.

What is pourquoy? do, or not do? I would I had bestow'd that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I but follow'd

the arts!

Sir T.

Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir A.

Why, would that have mended my hair?

Sir T.

Past question; for, thou see'st, it will not curl by nature ^note.

Sir A.

But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir T.

Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff: and I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off.

Sir A.

'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, woes her.

Sir T.

She'll none of the count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. ^note Tut, there's life in't, man.

Sir A.

I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'th' strangest mind i'the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir T.

Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight?

Sir A.

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 T.

What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

Sir A.

'Faith, I can cut a caper.

Sir T.

And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir A.

And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

Sir T.

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 form'd under the star of a galliard.

Sir A.

Ay ^note 'tis strong; and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd stocking. ^note Shall we set about some revels?

Sir T.

What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir A.

Taurus? that's sides, and heart.

Sir T.

No, sir; it is legs, and thighs. Let me see thee caper: † ha! higher: † ha, ha! excellent!