VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am, and be my aid For such disguise as haply shall become The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke; Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him. It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House. Enter Sir Toby and Maria. SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care’s an enemy to life. MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. SIR TOBY. Why, let her except, before excepted. MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. SIR TOBY. Confine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. MARIA. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer. SIR TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek? MARIA. Ay, he. SIR TOBY. He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria. MARIA. What’s that to th’ purpose? SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. MARIA. Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool, and a prodigal. SIR TOBY. Fie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature. MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they? MARIA. They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company. SIR TOBY. With drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the toe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter Sir Andrew. AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch? SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew! SIR ANDREW. Bless you, fair shrew. MARIA. And you too, sir. SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.