CLOWN. [_sings._] _O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear, your true love’s coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further, pretty sweeting. Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know._ SIR ANDREW. Excellent good, i’ faith. SIR TOBY. Good, good. CLOWN. _What is love? ’Tis not hereafter, Present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure. In delay there lies no plenty, Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. Youth’s a stuff will not endure._ SIR ANDREW. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. SIR TOBY. A contagious breath. SIR ANDREW. Very sweet and contagious, i’ faith. SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. 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 ANDREW. And you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch. CLOWN. By’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. SIR ANDREW. Most certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.” CLOWN. “Hold thy peace, thou knave” knight? I shall be constrain’d in’t to call thee knave, knight. SIR ANDREW. ’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins “Hold thy peace.” CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. SIR ANDREW. Good, i’ faith! Come, begin. [_Catch sung._] Enter Maria. MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. SIR TOBY. My lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and [_Sings._] _Three merry men be we._ Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally! “Lady”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady._ CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling. SIR ANDREW. 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. SIR TOBY. [_Sings._] _O’ the twelfth day of December—_ MARIA. For the love o’ God, peace! Enter Malvolio. MALVOLIO. 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 ale-house of 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 TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! MALVOLIO. 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, and it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. SIR TOBY. [_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._ MARIA. Nay, good Sir Toby. CLOWN. [_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._ MALVOLIO. Is’t even so?