Twelfth Night (3 of 31)

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SCENE III. A Room in OLIVIA'S House. (CONT'D)

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 MARIA.]

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 great eater of beef, and, I
believe, that does harm to my wit.

SIR TOBY.
No question.

SIR ANDREW.
An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home
to-morrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY.
Pourquoy, my dear knight?

SIR ANDREW.
What is pourquoy? do or not do? I would I had bestowed
that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and
bear-baiting. Oh, had I but followed 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; and I hope to
see a houswife take thee between her legs and spin it off.

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 woos her.

SIR TOBY.
She'll none o' the 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' the strangest
mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes
altogether.

SIR TOBY.
Art thou good at these kick-shaws, 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 them? 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 sink-a-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 formed under the
star of a galliard.

SIR ANDREW.
Ay, 'tis 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 thee caper: ha,
higher: ha, ha!--excellent!

[Exeunt.]

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