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Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a
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very fool, and a prodigal.
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SIR TOBY.
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Fye that you'll say so! he plays o' the viol-de-gambo,
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and speaks three or four languages word for word without book,
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and hath all the good gifts of nature.
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MARIA.
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He hath indeed,--almost natural: for, besides that he's a
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fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of
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a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought
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among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
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SIR TOBY.
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By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that
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say so of him. Who are they?
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MARIA.
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They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
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SIR TOBY.
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With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as
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long as there is a passage in my throat and drink in Illyria.
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He's a coward and a coystril that will not drink to my niece
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till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
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Castiliano-vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.
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[Enter SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.]
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AGUE-CHEEK.
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Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!
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SIR TOBY.
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Sweet Sir Andrew?
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SIR ANDREW.
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Bless you, fair shrew.
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MARIA.
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And you too, sir.
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SIR TOBY.
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Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
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SIR ANDREW.
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What's that?
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SIR TOBY.
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My niece's chamber-maid.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
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MARIA.
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My name is Mary, sir.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Good Mistress Mary Accost,--
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SIR TOBY.
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You mistake, knight: accost is, front her, board her,
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woo her, assail her.
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SIR ANDREW.
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By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company.
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Is that the meaning of accost?
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MARIA.
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Fare you well, gentlemen.
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SIR TOBY.
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An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never
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draw sword again.
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SIR ANDREW.
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An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw
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sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?
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MARIA.
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Sir, I have not you by the hand.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
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MARIA.
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Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to
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the buttery-bar and let it drink.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor?
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MARIA.
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It's dry, sir.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my
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hand dry. But what's your jest?
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MARIA.
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