Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will

commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being
cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her
liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in
yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of
putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a
postscript.

[Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
entertain'st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy
smiles
become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my
sweet, I prithee.'
Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou
wilt have me. Exit

FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of
thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

SIR TOBY. I could marry this wench for this device.

AGUECHEEK. So could I too.

SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.

Enter MARIA

AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither.

FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

AGUECHEEK. Or o' mine either?

SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy
bond-slave?

AGUECHEEK. I' faith, or I either?

SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the
image of it leaves him he must run mad.

MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?

SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vita! with a midwife.

AIARIA. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his
first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow
stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors, and cross-garter'd, a
fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now
be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable
contempt. If you will see it, follow me.

SIR TOBY. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!

AGUECHEEK. I'll make one too. Exeunt

ACT III

SCENE I. OLIVIA'S garden

Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor

VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music!
Dost thou live by thy tabor?

CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church.

VIOLA. Art thou a churchman?

CLOWN. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live
at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

VIOLA. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar
dwell near him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor
stand by the church.

CLOWN. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a
chev'ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be
turn'd outward!

VIOLA. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may
quickly make them wanton.

CLOWN. I would, therefore, my sister had had name, sir.

VIOLA. Why, man?

CLOWN. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word
might make my sister wanton. But indeed words are very rascals
since bonds disgrac'd them.

VIOLA. Thy reason, man?

CLOWN. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words
are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.

VIOLA. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for nothing.