Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nofe is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a fong. Sir To. Come on; there is fix-pence for you: let's have a fong. a Sir And. There's a teftril of me too: if one knight give Clo. Would you have a love-fong, or a fong of good life? Sir To. A love-fong, a love-fong. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith! Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Prefent mirth bath prefent laughter; What's to come, is still unfure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, fweet and twenty, Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. Sir To. Sir To. A contagious breath. Sir And. Very fweet and contagious, i'faith. Sir To. To hear by the nofe, it is dulcet in contagion. But fhall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we roufe the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three fouls out of one weaver? fhall we do that? Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. Clo. By'r lady, fir, and fome dogs will catch well. Sir And. Moft certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall be conftrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have conftrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I fhall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin. [They fing a Catch. Enter MARIA. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not call'd up her fteward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramfey, and Three merry men be we. Am not I confanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tillyvalley lady! There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. Clo. Befhrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be difpos'd, and fo do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do åt more natural. Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December,— [Singing. Enter Enter MALVOLIO. Mal. My mafters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehoufe of my lady's houfe, that ye fqueak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorfe of voice? Is there no respect of place, perfons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, fir, in our catches. Sneck up! Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though the harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your diforders. If you can feparate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the houfe; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, the is very willing to bid you farewel. Sir To. Farewel, dear heart, fince I must needs be Mal. Nay, good fir Toby. Clo. His eyes do fhew his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even fo. Sir To. But I will never die. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Mal. This is much credit to you. Sir To. Shall I bid him go? Clo. What an if you do? Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. gone. [Singing. Sir To. Out o'time? fir, ye lie.-Art any more than a fteward? Doft thou think, because thou art virtuous, there fhall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger fhall be hot i'the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right.-Go, fir, rub your chain with crums -A ftoop of wine, Maria! Mal. |