SIR ANDREW. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria. SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. SIR ANDREW. Ay, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d stock. Shall we set about some revels? SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus? SIR ANDREW. Taurus? That’s sides and heart. SIR TOBY. No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent! [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace. Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire. VALENTINE. If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger. VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? VALENTINE. No, believe me. Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants. VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count. DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho? VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here. DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof.—Cesario, Thou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d To thee the book even of my secret soul. Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her, Be not denied access, stand at her doors, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow Till thou have audience. VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon’d to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? DUKE. O then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith; It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth, Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect. VIOLA. I think not so, my lord. DUKE. Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years, That say thou art a man: Diana’s lip Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman’s part. I know thy constellation is right apt For this affair. Some four or five attend him: All, if you will; for I myself am best When least in company. Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, To call his fortunes thine. VIOLA. I’ll do my best To woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife! Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House. Enter Maria and Clown.