Sir To.

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 To.

Why, let her except before excepted.

Mar.

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

Sir To.

Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes 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 To.

Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

Mar.

Ay, he.

Sir To.

He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria^{10 note}.

Mar.

What's that to the purpose?

Sir To.

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 To.

Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gamboys^{1 note}, 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^{2 note}, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top^{3 note}. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo^{4 note}; for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

Sir And.

Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch?

Sir To.

Sweet sir Andrew.

11Q0442

Sir And.

Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar.

And you too, sir.

Sir To.

Accost, sir Andrew, accost^{5 note}

.

Sir And.

What's that?

Sir To.

My niece's chamber-maid.

Sir And.

Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

Mar.

My name is Mary, sir.

Sir And.

Good Mistress Mary Accost,—

Sir To.

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

Sir And.

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

Mar.

Fare you well, gentlemen.

Sir To.

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

Sir And.

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 And.

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^{6 note}.

Sir And.

Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor?

Mar.

It's dry, sir.

Sir And.

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 And.

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 To.

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

Sir And.

Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me 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^{7 note}.

Sir To.

No question.

Sir And.

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

Sir To.

Pourquoi, my dear knight?

Sir And.

What is pourquoi? do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I but followed the arts!

Sir To.

Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And.

Why, would that have mended my hair?

Sir To.

Past question; for, thou seest, it will not curl by nature 11Q0443^{8 note}.

Sir And.

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

Sir To.

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

Sir And.

'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, woos her.

Sir To.

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

Sir And.

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

Sir To.

Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight?

Sir And.

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 To.

What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight^{9 note}?

Sir And.

'Faith, I can cut a caper.

Sir To.

And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And.

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

Sir To.

Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture^{1 note}? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in

11Q0444 a coranto^{2 note}? My very walk should be a jig: I would not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace^{3 note}. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

Sir And.

Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock^{4 note}. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir To.

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

Sir And.

Taurus? that's sides and heart^{5 note}.

Sir To.

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

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