SIR ANDREW. Or o’ mine either? SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave? SIR ANDREW. 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-vitae with a midwife. MARIA. 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-gartered, 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! SIR ANDREW. 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 turned 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 no 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 disgraced 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. CLOWN. Not so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible. VIOLA. Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool? CLOWN. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool, sir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. VIOLA. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s. CLOWN. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there. VIOLA. Nay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee. CLOWN. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!