Act 3, Scene II

SCENE II. OLIVIA's house.

Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN
SIR ANDREW
No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

SIR TOBY BELCH
Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

FABIAN
You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW
Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the
count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me;
I saw't i' the orchard.

SIR TOBY BELCH
Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.

SIR ANDREW
As plain as I see you now.

FABIAN
This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

SIR ANDREW
'Slight, will you make an ass o' me?

FABIAN
I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of
judgment and reason.

SIR TOBY BELCH
And they have been grand-jury-men since before Noah
was a sailor.

FABIAN
She did show favour to the youth in your sight only
to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to
put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver.
You should then have accosted her; and with some
excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should
have banged the youth into dumbness. This was
looked for at your hand, and this was balked: the
double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash
off, and you are now sailed into the north of my
lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle
on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by
some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.

SIR ANDREW
An't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy
I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a
politician.

SIR TOBY BELCH
Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of
valour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight
with him; hurt him in eleven places: my niece shall
take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no
love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's
commendation with woman than report of valour.

FABIAN
There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW
Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

SIR TOBY BELCH
Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief;
it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun
of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink:
if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be
amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of
paper, although the sheet were big enough for the
bed of Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it.
Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou
write with a goose-pen, no matter: about it.

SIR ANDREW
Where shall I find you?

SIR TOBY BELCH
We'll call thee at the cubiculo: go.

Exit SIR ANDREW

FABIAN
This is a dear manikin