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Is't even so?
SIR TOBY.
'But I will never die.'
CLOWN.
Sir Toby, there you lie.
MALVOLIO.
This is much credit to you.
SIR TOBY.
[Singing] 'Shall I bid him go?'
CLOWN.
'What an if you do?'
SIR TOBY.
'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?'
CLOWN.
'O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.'
SIR TOBY.
Out o' tune? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou
think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes
and ale?
CLOWN.
Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth
too.
SIR TOBY.
Thou'art i' the right.--Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs:
A stoup of wine, Maria!
MALVOLIO.
Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at anything
more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil
rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.
[Exit.]
MARIA.
Go shake your ears.
SIR ANDREW.
'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's a-hungry,
to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him
and make a fool of him.
SIR TOBY.
Do't, knight; I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll
deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
MARIA.
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of
the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet.
For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull
him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not
think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can
do it.
SIR TOBY.
Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
MARIA.
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
SIR ANDREW.
O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog.
SIR TOBY.
What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?
SIR ANDREW.
I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.
MARIA.
The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a
time-pleaser: an affectioned ass that cons state without book and
utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so
crammed, as he thinks, with excellences, that it is his grounds
of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in
him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
SIR TOBY.
What wilt thou do?
MARIA.
I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love;
wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the
manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and
complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I
can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter we
can hardly make distinction of our hands.
SIR TOBY.
Excellent! I smell a device.