Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine, And though that nature, with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee I will beleeue thou hast a minde that suites With this thy faire and outward charracter. I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously) Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde, For such disguise as haply shall become The forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke, Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him, It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing, And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke, That will allow me very worth his seruice. What else may hap, to time I will commit, Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee, When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on. Exeunt. Scaena Tertia. Enter Sir Toby, and Maria. Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie to life Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptions to your ill houres To. Why let her except, before excepted Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within the modest limits of order To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am: these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so bee these boots too: and they be not, let them hang themselues in their owne straps Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: I heard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke? Ma. I he To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria Ma. What's that to th' purpose? To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates: He's a very foole, and a prodigall To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages word for word without booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides that he's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee hath the gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickely haue the gift of a graue Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. Who are they? Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightly in your company To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinke to her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinke in Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will not drinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like a parish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here coms Sir Andrew Agueface. Enter Sir Andrew. And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch? To. Sweet sir Andrew And. Blesse you faire Shrew Mar. And you too sir Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost And. What's that? To. My Neeces Chamber-maid