READ STUDY GUIDE: Act I, scenes iii–iv |
|
Act I, Scene iii
| OLIVIA'S house. |
| [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA.] |
| SIR TOBY: |
| What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother |
| thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life. |
| MARIA: |
| By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your |
| cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Why, let her except before excepted. |
| MARIA: |
| Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of |
| order. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes |
| are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they |
| be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. |
| MARIA: |
| 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 TOBY: |
| Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek? |
| MARIA: |
| Ay, he. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. |
| MARIA: |
| What's that to th' purpose? |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. |
| MARIA: |
| Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very |
| fool and a prodigal. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys, and |
| speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and |
| hath all the good gifts of nature. |
| MARIA: |
| 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 TOBY: |
| By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of |
| him. Who are they? |
| MARIA: |
| They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| 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 coystrill that will not drink to my niece |
| till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench! |
| Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. |
| [Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK.] |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Sir Toby Belch; how now, Sir Toby Belch! |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Sweet Sir Andrew! |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Bless you, fair shrew. |
| MARIA: |
| And you too, sir. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| What's that? |
| SIR TOBY: |
| My niece's chambermaid. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. |
| MARIA: |
| My name is Mary, sir. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Good Mistress Mary Accost,— |
| SIR TOBY: |
| You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board her, woo her, |
| assail her. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that |
| the meaning of 'accost'? |
| MARIA: |
| Fare you well, gentlemen. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw |
| sword again. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword |
| again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? |
| MARIA: |
| Sir, I have not you by th' hand. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. |
| MARIA: |
| Now, sir, 'thought is free.' I pray you, bring your hand to th' |
| buttery-bar and let it drink. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor? |
| MARIA: |
| It's dry, sir. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. |
| But what's your jest? |
| MARIA: |
| A dry jest, sir. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Are you full of them? |
| MARIA: |
| Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let go |
| your hand, I am barren. |
| [Exit.] |
| SIR TOBY: |
| O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary; when did I see thee so |
| put down? |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| 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 TOBY: |
| No question. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| And I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, |
| Sir Toby. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Pourquoi, my dear knight? |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| What is 'pourquoi'? do or not do? I would I had bestow'd that |
| time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and |
| bear-baiting! O, had I but follow'd the arts! |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Why, would that have mended my hair? |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| But it becomes me well enough, does't not? |
| SIR TOBY: |
| Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| 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 wooes her. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| 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 ANDREW: |
| 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 TOBY: |
| Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight? |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| 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 TOBY: |
| What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Faith, I can cut a caper. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| And I can cut the mutton to't. |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in |
| Illyria. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| 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. 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 ANDREW: |
| Ay, 't is strong, and it does indifferent well in flame-colour'd |
| stock. Shall we set about some revels? |
| SIR TOBY: |
| What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? |
| SIR ANDREW: |
| Taurus! That's sides and heart. |
| SIR TOBY: |
| No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha! higher! |
| ha, ha, excellent! |
| [Exeunt.] |
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