SIR ANDREW. What’s that? SIR TOBY. My niece’s chamber-maid. SIR ANDREW. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. MARIA. My name is Mary, sir. SIR ANDREW. Good Mistress Mary Accost,— SIR TOBY. You mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail her. SIR ANDREW. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen. SIR TOBY. And thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again. SIR ANDREW. And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? MARIA. Sir, I have not you by the hand. SIR ANDREW. Marry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand. MARIA. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery bar and let it drink. SIR ANDREW. Wherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor? MARIA. It’s dry, sir. SIR ANDREW. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what’s your jest? MARIA. A dry jest, sir. SIR ANDREW. Are you full of them? MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [_Exit Maria._] SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put down? SIR ANDREW. Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. SIR TOBY. No question. SIR ANDREW. And I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby. SIR TOBY. _Pourquoy_, my dear knight? SIR ANDREW. What is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I but followed the arts! SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. SIR ANDREW. Why, would that have mended my hair? SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. SIR ANDREW. But it becomes me well enough, does’t not? SIR TOBY. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a huswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off. SIR ANDREW. Faith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if she be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me; the Count himself here hard by woos her. SIR TOBY. She’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life in’t, man. SIR ANDREW. I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the strangest mind i’ the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kick-shawses, knight? SIR ANDREW. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? SIR ANDREW. Faith, I can cut a caper. SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to’t.