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


SIR ANDREW: No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

FABIAN: You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW: Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the
	count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me;
	I saw't i' the orchard.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.

SIR ANDREW: As plain as I see you now.

FABIAN: This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

SIR ANDREW: 'Slight, will you make an ass o' me?

FABIAN: I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of
	judgment and reason.

SIR TOBY BELCH: And they have been grand-jury-men since before Noah
	was a sailor.

FABIAN: She did show favour to the youth in your sight only
	to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to
	put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver.
	You should then have accosted her; and with some
	excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should
	have banged the youth into dumbness. This was
	looked for at your hand, and this was balked: the
	double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash
	off, and you are now sailed into the north of my
	lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle
	on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by
	some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.

SIR ANDREW: An't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy
	I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a

SIR TOBY BELCH: Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of
	valour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight
	with him; hurt him in eleven places: my niece shall
	take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no
	love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's
	commendation with woman than report of valour.

FABIAN: There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW: Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

SIR TOBY BELCH: Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief;
	it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun
	of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink:
	if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be
	amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of
	paper, although the sheet were big enough for the
	bed of Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it.
	Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou
	write with a goose-pen, no matter: about it.

SIR ANDREW: Where shall I find you?

SIR TOBY BELCH: We'll call thee at the cubiculo: go.


FABIAN: This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY BELCH: I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand
	strong, or so.

FABIAN: We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll
	not deliver't?

SIR TOBY BELCH: Never trust me, then; and by all means stir on the
	youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes
	cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were
	opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as
	will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of
	the anatomy.

FABIAN: And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no
	great presage of cruelty.

	[Enter MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH: Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes.

MARIA: If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourself
	into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is
	turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no
	Christian, that means to be saved by believing
	rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages
	of grossness. He's in yellow stockings.

SIR TOBY BELCH: And cross-gartered?

MARIA: Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps a school
	i' the church. I have dogged him, like his
	murderer. He does obey every point of the letter
	that I dropped to betray him: he does smile his
	face into more lines than is in the new map with the
	augmentation of the Indies: you have not seen such
	a thing as 'tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things
	at him. I know my lady will strike him: if she do,
	he'll smile and take't for a great favour.

SIR TOBY BELCH: Come, bring us, bring us where he is.



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