Chapter: SCENE III.


                     _A Room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_.

                  _Enter_ MARIA _and_ SIR TOBY BELCH.

    _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 niece, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.

    _Sir To._ Why, let her except before excepted.

    _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 have brought in
here, to be her wooer.

    _Sir To._ Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek?

    _Mar._ Ay, he.

    _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._ Fye, that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gambo,
and hath all the good gifts of nature.

    _Mar._ He hath, indeed, all, most 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 band, 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--See, here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.

                                     [SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, _without_.

    _Sir And._ Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch?

    _Sir To._ Sweet Sir Andrew!

                          _Enter_ SIR ANDREW.

    _Sir And._ Bless you, fair shrew.

    _Mar._ And you too, sir.

    _Sir To._ Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

    _Sir And._ What's that?

    _Sir To._ My niece's chamber-maid.

    _Sir And._ Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

    _Mar._ My name is Mary, sir.

    _Sir And._ Good Mistress Mary Accost,----

    _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 the hand.

    _Sir And._ Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

    _Mar._ [_Takes his hand._] Now, sir, thought is free: I pray you,
bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.

    _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 fingers' ends: marry, [_Lets go
his hand._] 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 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 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: the duke
himself, here hard by, wooes her.

    _Sir To._ She'll none o' the duke; 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 kick-shaws, knight?

    _Sir And._ As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree
of my betters; and yet I'll 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? wherefore have these gifts
a curtain before them? 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 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._

 At Olivia's house, Sir Toby Belch, Olivia's uncle, is criticizing his niece for mourning the death of her brother so profusely. He says to her serving girl, Maria, that his niece is melodramatically overreacting, and he thoroughly disapproves. Maria disapproves of several things herself: she disapproves of Sir Toby's arriving at such a late hour, dressing so slovenly, and drinking so much. Only yesterday, Olivia complained of these things, plus the fact that Sir Toby brought someone who he thinks is the perfect suitor to the house, Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Despite Maria's calling Aguecheek a "fool and a prodigal," Sir Toby is proud of the chap -- a fitting suitor for his niece: Aguecheek, he says, receives three thousand ducats a year, plays the violincello, and speaks several languages. Maria is not impressed. To her, the man is reputed to be a gambler, a quarreler, a coward, and a habitual drunkard. When Sir Andrew joins them, there follows a brief exchange of jests, most of them at Sir Andrew's expense. Maria leaves, and the two men discuss Sir Andrew's chances as a prospective suitor of Olivia. Sir Andrew is discouraged and ready to ride home tomorrow, but Sir Toby persuades him to prolong his visit for another month, especially since Sir Andrew delights in masques and revels and, as Sir Toby points out, Sir Andrew is a superb dancer and an acrobat, as well. Laughing and joking, the two men leave the stage. It is obvious that Sir Toby has a secret and mysterious purpose for wanting to persuade Sir Andrew to stay and woo the fair Olivia.

