Sir A.

A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

Sir T.

A contagious breath.

Sir A.

Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.

Sir T.

To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we

rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?

Sir A.

An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.

Clo.

By'r-lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Sir A.

Most certain: Let our catch be, Thou knave.

Clo.

Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? ^note I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir A.

'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace.

Clo.

I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.

Sir A.

Good, i'faith! Come, begin.

Mar.

What a catterwawling 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 T.

My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg o' Ramsey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I consanguinious? am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally! lady!—There dwelt a man in Babylon,— lady, lady!

Clo.

Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Sir A.

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.

Sir T.

O, the twelfth day of December,—

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 ye make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers'

catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?

Sir T.

We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck-up! ^note

Mal.

Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bad me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders: If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, 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 T.

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

Mar.

Nay, good sir Toby.

Clo.

His eyes do show his days are almost done.

Mal.

Is't even so?

Sir T.

But I will never dye. ^note

Clo.

Sir Toby, there you lye.

Mal.

This is much credit to you.

Sir T.

Shall I bid him go?

Clo.

What an if you do?

Sir T.

Shall I bid him go, and spare not?

Clo.

O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.

Sir T.

Out o'tune, sir, ye lye.—Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clo.

Yes, by saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i'the mouth too.

Sir T.

Thou'rt i'the right.—Go, sir, rub your chain with crums:—A stoop of wine, Maria.

Mal.

Mistress 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 A.

'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 T.

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 count'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 lye strait in my bed: I know, I can do it.

Sir T.

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

Mar.

Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan:

Sir A.

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

Sir T.

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

Sir A.

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 affection'd ass, ^note that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so cram'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of ^note faith, that all, that look on him, love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.

Sir T.

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 complection, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands.

Sir T.

Excellent! I smell a device.

Sir A.

I ha't in my nose too.

Sir T.

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

Mar.

My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Sir A.

And your horse now would make him an ass.

Mar.

Ass—I doubt not.

Sir A.

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 the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction ^note of it: For this night, to bed, and dream on the event: Farewel.

Sir T.

Good night, Penthesilea.

Sir A.

Before me, she's a good wench.

Sir T.

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

Sir A.

I was ador'd once too.

Sir T.

Let's to bed, knight: Thou hadst need send for more money.

Sir A.

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

Sir T.

Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i'the end, call me, cut.

Sir A.

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

Sir T.

Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 'tis too

late to go to bed now: come, knight, come, knight.