SIR TOBY
What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care’s an enemy to life.
MARIA
By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
SIR TOBY
Why, let her except, before excepted.
MARIA
Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
SIR TOBY
Confine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.
MARIA
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 TOBY
Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
MARIA
Ay, he.
SIR TOBY
He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.
MARIA
What’s that to th’ purpose?
SIR TOBY
Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
MARIA
Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool, and a prodigal.
SIR TOBY
Fie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and all the good gifts of nature.
MARIA
He indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a great quarreller; and, but that he the gift of a coward to allay the gust he in quarrelling, thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
SIR TOBY
By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?
MARIA
They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.
SIR TOBY
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 that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the toe like a parish top. What, ! Castiliano vulgo: for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
AGUECHEEK
Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?
SIR TOBY
Sweet Sir Andrew!
SIR ANDREW
Bless you, fair shrew.
MARIA
And you too, sir.
SIR TOBY
Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
SIR ANDREW
What’s that?
SIR TOBY
My niece’s chamber-maid.
SIR ANDREW
Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
MARIA
My name is Mary, sir.
SIR ANDREW
Good Mistress Mary Accost,—
SIR TOBY
You mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.
SIR ANDREW
By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost?
MARIA
Fare you well, gentlemen.
SIR TOBY
And let part so, Sir Andrew, would mightst never draw sword again.
SIR ANDREW
And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?
MARIA
Sir, I have not you by the hand.
SIR ANDREW
Marry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.
MARIA
Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery bar and let it drink.
SIR ANDREW
, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?
MARIA
It’s dry, sir.
SIR ANDREW
Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what’s your jest?
MARIA
A dry jest, sir.
SIR ANDREW
Are you full of them?
MARIA
Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.
SIR TOBY
O knight, lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see so put down?
SIR ANDREW
Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. 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 TOBY
No question.
SIR ANDREW
And I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY
Pourquoy, my dear knight?
SIR ANDREW
What is pourquoy? 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 TOBY
Then hadst had an excellent head of hair.
SIR ANDREW
Why, would that have mended my hair?
SIR TOBY
Past question; for seest it will not curl by nature.
SIR ANDREW
But it becomes me well enough, does’t not?
SIR TOBY
Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a huswife take between her legs, and spin it off.
SIR ANDREW
Faith, I’ll home tomorrow, 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 TOBY
She’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life in’t, man.
SIR ANDREW
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 TOBY
Art good at these kick-shawses, knight?
SIR ANDREW
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 TOBY
What is excellence in a galliard, knight?
SIR ANDREW
Faith, I can cut a caper.
SIR TOBY
And I can cut the mutton to’t.
SIR ANDREW
And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.
SIR TOBY
are these things hid? have these gifts a curtain before ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture? Why 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 mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.
SIR ANDREW
Ay, strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d stock. Shall we set about some revels?
SIR TOBY
What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus?
SIR ANDREW
Taurus? That’s sides and heart.
SIR TOBY
No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent!