Sir And. 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 115 himself here hard by woos her. Sir To. 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. | 120 | Sir And. 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 To. Art thou good at these kickshawses, Sir And. 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 To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. Sir And. I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria. Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? fore have these gifts a curtain before 'em? 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. . . . | 140 | What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent -54- |