Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! He plays o' the
viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four
languages word for word without book, and

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 in quarrelling, 'tis thought

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and
substractors that say so of him. Who are
they?

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
45 coward and a coystrill that will not drink to
my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a
parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo!
for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek.

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby
50 Belch!

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew!

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.

Mar. And you too, sir.

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