_Sir To._ To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. 55 But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? _Sir And._ An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. 60 _Clo._ By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. _Sir And._ Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou knave.' _Clo._ 'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, knight. 65 _Sir And._ 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.' _Clo._ I shall never begin if I hold my peace. _Sir And._ Good, i'faith. Come, begin. [_Catch sung._ _Enter_ MARIA. _Mar._ What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my 70 lady have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. _Sir To._ My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and 'Three merry men be we.' Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tillyvally. 75 Lady! [_Sings_] 'There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!' _Clo._ Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. _Sir And._ Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. 80 _Sir To._ [_Sings_] 'O, the twelfth day of December',-- _Mar._ For the love o' God, peace! _Enter_ MALVOLIO. _Mal._ My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an alehouse of 85 my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? _Sir To._ We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! 90 _Mal._ Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to 95 take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. _Sir To._ 'Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.' _Mar._ Nay, good Sir Toby. _Clo._ 'His eyes do show his days are almost done.' _Mal._ Is't even so? 100 _Sir To._ 'But I will never die.' _Clo._ Sir Toby, there you lie. _Mal._ This is much credit to you. _Sir To._ 'Shall I bid him go?'