Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your metaphor?

Mar. It's dry, Sir.

Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Mar. A dry jest, Sir.

Sir And. Are you full of them?

Mar. Ay, Sir; I have them at my finger's ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit MARIA. Sir To. O Knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down?

Sir And. 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 To. No question.

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear Knight?

Sir And. 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 follow'd the arts!

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature.

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir To. 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 And. 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: self, here hard by, wooes her.

the Count him

she'll not

Sir To. She'll none o'the Count; match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it.

life in't, man.

Tut, there's

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'the strangest mind i'the world; 1 delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, Knight?

Sir And. 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 To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, Knight?.
Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.

are

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where fore have these gifts a curtain before them? they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's pictu re? 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 form'd under the star of a galliard.

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent. well in a flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir And. Taurus; that's sides and heart.

Sir To. No, Sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Room in the Duke's Palace.

Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire.

Val. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: Is he inconstant, Sir, in his favours? Val. No, believe me.

Enter DUKE, CURIO, and Attendants.
Vio. I thank you. Here comes the Count.
Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho?

Vio. On your attendance, my Lord; here.
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario,

Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul:

Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow,
Till thou have audience.

Vio. Sure, my noble Lord,

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow

As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return.

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my Lord; What then?

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprize her with discourse of my dear faith:
It shall become thee well to act my woes;
She will attend it better in thy youth,
Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect.
Vio. I think not so, my Lord.
Duke. Dear lad, believe it;

For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip

is not more smooth, and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,

And all is semblative a woman's part.

I know, thy constellation is right apt

For this affair: Some four, or five, attend him; All, if you will: for I myself am best,

When least in company:

Prosper well in this,

And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
To call his fortunes thine.

Vio. I'll do my best,

To woo your lady: yet, [Aside.] a barrful strife! Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Room in Olivia's House.

Enter MARIA, and CLOWN.

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hang'd in this world, needs to fear no colours.

Mar. Make that good.

Clo. He shall see none to fear.

Mar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours.

Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary?

Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

it;

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have and those that are fools, let them use their

talents.

Mar. Yet you will be hang'd, for being so long absent: or, to be turn'd away; is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out. Mar. You are resolute then?

Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolv'd on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall.

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o'that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, were best.

Enter OLIVIA, and MAL VOLIO.

you

[Exit.

Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit. God bless thee, Lady!

Oli. Take the fool away.

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

Oli. Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you: besides, you grow dishonest.

Clo. Two faults, Madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink,