CLOWN. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar. Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin,-- I might say 'element,' but the word is over-worn. [Exit.] VIOLA. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye. This is a practice As full of labour as a wise man's art: For folly that he wisely shows is fit; But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. [Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW.] SIR TOBY. Save you, gentleman! VIOLA. And you, sir. SIR ANDREW. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. SIR ANDREW. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage. SIR TOBY. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion. VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs. SIR TOBY. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. VIOLA. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented. [Enter OLIVIA and MARIA.] Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you! SIR ANDREW. That youth's a rare courtier. 'Rain odours'; well. VIOLA. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. SIR ANDREW. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed': I'll get 'em all three all ready. OLIVIA. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA.] Give me your hand, sir. VIOLA. My duty, madam, and most humble service. OLIVIA. What is your name? VIOLA. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. OLIVIA. My servant, sir! 'T was never merry world Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment; You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth. VIOLA. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours; Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. OLIVIA. For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts, Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! VIOLA. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf. OLIVIA. O, by your leave, I pray you, I bade you never speak again of him; But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that Than music from the spheres. VIOLA. Dear lady,--