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[Exit.]
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SCENE III.
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A Room in OLIVIA'S House.
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[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.]
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SIR TOBY.
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Approach, Sir Andrew; not to be a-bed after midnight is to
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be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, thou know'st.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Nay; by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late
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is to be up late.
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SIR TOBY.
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A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be
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up after midnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go
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to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives
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consist of the four elements?
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SIR ANDREW.
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Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of
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eating and drinking.
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SIR TOBY.
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Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.--
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Marian, I say!--a stoup of wine.
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[Enter CLOWN.]
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SIR ANDREW.
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Here comes the fool, i' faith.
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CLOWN.
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How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three?
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SIR TOBY.
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Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.
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SIR ANDREW.
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By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had
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rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a
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breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very
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gracious fooling last night when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus,
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of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very
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good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman. Hadst it?
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CLOWN.
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I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no
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whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no
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bottle-ale houses.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is
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done. Now, a song.
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SIR TOBY.
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Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.
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SIR ANDREW.
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There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a--
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CLOWN.
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Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
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SIR TOBY.
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A love-song, a love-song.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Ay, ay; I care not for good life.
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CLOWN.
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SONG
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O, mistress mine, where are you roaming?
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O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
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That can sing both high and low:
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Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
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Journeys end in lovers meeting,
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Every wise man's son doth know.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Excellent good, i' faith.
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SIR TOBY.
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Good, good.
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CLOWN.
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What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
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Present mirth hath present laughter;
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What's to come is still unsure.
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In delay there lies no plenty;
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Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty;
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Youth's a stuff will not endure.
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