Reference > William Shakespeare > The Oxford Shakespeare > Twelfth-Night; or, What You Will
  PREVIOUSNEXT  
CONTENTS · PLAY CONTENTS · DRAMATIS PERSONÆ · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
William Shakespeare (1564–1616).  The Oxford Shakespeare.  1914.
 
Twelfth-Night; or, What You Will
 
Act I. Scene III.
 
A Room in OLIVIA’S House.
 
Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA.
  Sir To.  What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care’s an enemy to life.
  Mar.  By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
  Sir To.  Why, let her except before excepted.        5
  Mar.  Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
  Sir To.  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.
  Mar.  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 To.  Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
  Mar.  Ay, he.        10
  Sir To.  He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.
  Mar.  What’s that to the purpose?
  Sir To.  Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
  Mar.  Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats: he’s a very fool and a prodigal.
  Sir To.  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.        15
  Mar.  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 To.  By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they?
  Mar.  They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.
  Sir To.  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 coystril, 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.
 
Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
        20
  Sir And.  Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!
  Sir To.  Sweet Sir Andrew!
  Sir And.  Bless you, fair shrew.
  Mar.  And you too, sir.
  Sir To.  Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.        25
  Sir And.  What’s that?
  Sir To.  My niece’s chambermaid.
  Sir And.  Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
  Mar.  My name is Mary, sir.
  Sir And.  Good Mistress Mary Accost,—        30
  Sir To.  You mistake, knight: ‘accost’ is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her.
  Sir And.  By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of ‘accost?’
  Mar.  Fare you well, gentlemen.
  Sir To.  An thou let her part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again!
  Sir And.  An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?        35
  Mar.  Sir, I have not you by the hand.
  Sir And.  Marry, but you shall have; and here’s my hand.
  Mar.  Now, sir, ‘thought is free:’ I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.
  Sir And.  Wherefore, sweetheart? what’s your metaphor?
  Mar.  It’s dry, sir.        40
  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 fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.  [Exit.
  Sir To.  O knight! thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down?        45
  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.  Pourquoi, my dear knight?        50
  Sir And.  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 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?        55
  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. The count himself here hard by woos her.
  Sir To.  She’ll none o’ the count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there’s life in ’t, man.
  Sir And.  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 To.  Art thou good at these kickchawses, knight?        60
  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.        65
  Sir To.  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 And.  Ay, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured 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.        70
 
 
CONTENTS · PLAY CONTENTS · DRAMATIS PERSONÆ · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
  PREVIOUSNEXT  
 
Loading
Click here to shop the Bartleby Bookstore.

Shakespeare · Bible · Strunk · Anatomy · Nonfiction · Quotations · Reference · Fiction · Poetry
© 1993–2014 Bartleby.com · [Top 150] · Subjects · Titles · Authors