Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Act 1 - Scene 3
OLIVIA’S house.
Sir Toby Belch : What a plague means my niece, to take the death of
[p]her brother
thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
Maria : By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'
[p]nights: your
cousin, my lady, takes great
[p]exceptions to your ill hours.
Sir Toby Belch : Why, let her except, before excepted.
Maria : Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest
[p]limits of
order.
Sir Toby Belch : Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am:
[p]these clothes are
good enough to drink in; and so be
[p]these boots too: an they be not,
let them hang
[p]themselves in their own straps.
Maria : That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard
[p]my lady talk of
it yesterday; and of a foolish
[p]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:
[p]he's a very fool
and a prodigal.
Sir Toby Belch : Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the
[p]viol-de-gamboys, and
speaks three or four languages
[p]word for word without book, and hath
all the good
[p]gifts of nature.
Maria : He hath indeed, almost natural: for besides that
[p]he's a fool, he's
a great quarreller: and but that
[p]he hath the gift of a coward to
allay the gust he
[p]hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the
prudent
[p]he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Sir Toby Belch : By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
[p]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
[p]her as long as
there is a passage in my throat and
[p]drink in Illyria: he's a coward
and a coystrill
[p]that will not drink to my niece till his brains
turn
[p]o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
[p]Castiliano
vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!
Sir Toby Belch : Sweet Sir Andrew!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Bless you, fair shrew.
Maria : And you too, sir.
Sir Toby Belch : Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : What's that?
Sir Toby Belch : My niece's chambermaid.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
Maria : My name is Mary, sir.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Good Mistress Mary Accost,--
Sir Toby Belch : You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board
[p]her, woo her,
assail her.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
[p]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
[p]never draw
sword again.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : An you part so, mistress, I would I might never
[p]draw sword again.
Fair lady, do you think you have
[p]fools in hand?
Maria : Sir, I have not you by the hand.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
Maria : Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, bring
[p]your hand to the
buttery-bar and let it drink.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?
Maria : It's dry, sir.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
[p]keep my hand dry.
But what's your jest?
Maria : A dry jest, sir.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Are you full of them?
Maria : Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: marry,
[p]now I let go your
hand, I am barren.
Sir Toby Belch : O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
[p]see thee so put
down?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary
[p]put me down.
Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
[p]than a Christian or an
ordinary man has: but I am a
[p]great eater of beef and I believe that
does harm to my wit.
Sir Toby Belch : No question.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
[p]to-morrow, Sir
Toby.
Sir Toby Belch : Pourquoi, my dear knight?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : What is 'Pourquoi'? do or not do? I would I had
[p]bestowed that time
in the tongues that I have in
[p]fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O,
had I but
[p]followed the arts!
Sir Toby Belch : Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Why, would that have mended my hair?
Sir Toby Belch : Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
Sir Toby Belch : Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
[p]hope to see a
housewife take thee between her legs
[p]and spin it off.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece
[p]will not be seen;
or if she be, it's four to one
[p]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
[p]her degree,
neither in estate, years, nor wit; I
[p]have heard her swear't. Tut,
there's life in't,
[p]man.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the
[p]strangest mind i'
the world; I delight in masques
[p]and revels sometimes altogether.
Sir Toby Belch : Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
[p]degree of my
betters; and yet I will not compare
[p]with an old man.
Sir Toby Belch : What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir Toby Belch : And I can cut the mutton to't.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong
[p]as any man in
Illyria.
Sir Toby Belch : Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have
[p]these gifts a
curtain before 'em? are they like to
[p]take dust, like Mistress
Mall's picture? why dost
[p]thou not go to church in a galliard and
come home in
[p]a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would
not
[p]so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What
[p]dost thou
mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in?
[p]I did think, by the
excellent constitution of thy
[p]leg, it was formed under the star of
a galliard.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek : Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
[p]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 Aguecheek : Taurus! That's sides and heart.
Sir Toby Belch : No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the
[p]caper; ha! higher:
ha, ha! excellent!
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