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Twelfth Night - Sir Toby
Act 1 Scene 3
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 cousin, my lady, takes great exception to you 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 brought in one night here to be her wooer.
Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
Mar. Ay, he.
Sir To. He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.
Mar. What’s that to th‘ 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. 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.
Mar. 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 to quarrelling, ‘tis thought
amongst the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Sir To. By this hand, 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 coystrill that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ th’ toe like a parish-top. What. wench! Castilliano vulgo! for here comes Sir