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 part so, Sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st 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?

Mar. Sir, I have not you by th' 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 th' buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? 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 fingers' 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. Purquoy, my dear Knight?

Sir And. What is purquoy? 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.
Sir And.

Then hadst thou an excellent head of hair.

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

Sir And.

not?

But it becomes me well enough, does't

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' th' 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, man.

Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o'th' strangest mind i' th' world; I 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.

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where

fore 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 sinka-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 damask-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 toward you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanc'd: 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 a while 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 deni'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 abandoned 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;
Surprise 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.

Dear lad, believe it;

Duke.
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 in 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 barful 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 we 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.

Clown. 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.

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; 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