Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Twelfth Night > Act I, scene III


SIR TOBY BELCH: 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 BELCH: Why, let her except, before excepted.

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

SIR TOBY BELCH: 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.

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 BELCH: Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

MARIA: Ay, he.

SIR TOBY BELCH: He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

MARIA: What's that to the purpose?

SIR TOBY BELCH: 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 BELCH: 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.

MARIA: 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 TOBY BELCH: By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
	that say so of him. Who are they?

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

SIR TOBY BELCH: 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 ANDREW: Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

SIR TOBY BELCH: Sweet Sir Andrew!

SIR ANDREW: Bless you, fair shrew.

MARIA: And you too, sir.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

SIR ANDREW: What's that?

SIR TOBY BELCH: My niece's chambermaid.

SIR ANDREW: Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

MARIA: My name is Mary, sir.

SIR ANDREW: Good Mistress Mary Accost,--

SIR TOBY BELCH: 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 BELCH: An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst
	never draw sword again.

SIR ANDREW: An 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 the buttery-bar and let it drink.

SIR ANDREW: Wherefore, sweet-heart? 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 BELCH: O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
	see thee so put down?

SIR ANDREW: 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.

SIR TOBY BELCH: No question.

SIR ANDREW: An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
	to-morrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Pourquoi, my dear knight?

SIR ANDREW: 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 TOBY BELCH: Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

SIR ANDREW: Why, would that have mended my hair?

SIR TOBY BELCH: Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.

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

SIR TOBY BELCH: 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 ANDREW: 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 TOBY BELCH: 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,

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 BELCH: Art thou good at these kickshawses, 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 BELCH: What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

SIR ANDREW: Faith, I can cut a caper.

SIR TOBY BELCH: 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 BELCH: 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.

SIR ANDREW: Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
	flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

SIR TOBY BELCH: What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

SIR ANDREW: Taurus! That's sides and heart.

SIR TOBY BELCH: No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the
	caper; ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!



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