What a plague means my niece, to take the death of
her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'
nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great
exceptions to your ill hours.
Why, let her except, before excepted.
Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest
limits of order.
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.
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.
Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
What's that to the purpose?
Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats:
he's a very fool and a prodigal.
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 hath all the good
gifts of nature.
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.
By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
that say so of him. Who are they?
They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
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 coystrill
that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn
o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!
Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
Good Mistress Mary Accost,—
You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board
her, woo her, assail her.
By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
company. Is that the meaning of 'accost'?
Fare you well, gentlemen.
An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst
never draw sword again.
An you part so, mistress, I would I might never
draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have
fools in hand?
Sir, I have not you by the hand.
Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, bring
your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.
Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?
Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?
Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: marry,
now I let go your hand, I am barren.
O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
see thee so put down?
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.
An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
to-morrow, Sir Toby.
Pourquoi, my dear knight?
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!
Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
Why, would that have mended my hair?
Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs
and spin it off.
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.
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,
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.
Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare
with an old man.
What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Faith, I can cut a caper.
And I can cut the mutton to't.
And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong
as any man in Illyria.
Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have
these gifts a curtain before 'em? 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 formed under the star of a galliard.
Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?
What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?
Taurus! That's sides and heart.
No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the
caper; ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!