_Seb._ A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but, though I could not overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not but call fair. [_He weeps._] _Ant._ If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. _Seb._ If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the Duke Orsino's court, farewell. _Ant._ The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! _Seb._ Fare ye well. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _A Dining-room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_. SIR TOBY _and_ SIR ANDREW _discovered, drinking and smoking_. _Sir To._ Come, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after midnight, is to be up betimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know'st,---- _Sir And._ Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. _Sir To._ A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfill'd can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? _Sir And._ 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking. _Sir To._ Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.--Maria, I say!----a stoop of wine! [_The_ CLOWN _sings without_. [SIR ANDREW _and_ SIR TOBY _rise_. _Sir And._ Here comes the fool, i'faith. _Enter_ CLOWN. _Clo._ How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three? _Sir To._ Welcome, ass. _Sir And._ I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg; and so sweet a voice to sing, as the fool has.--In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman: Hadst it? _Clo._ I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle ale-houses. _Sir And._ Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. _Sir To._ Come on: Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that? _Sir And._ An you love me, let's do 't: I am dog at a catch. _Clo._ By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. _Sir And._ Begin, fool: it begins,--[_Sings._] _Hold thy peace._ _Clo._ Hold my peace!--I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. _Sir And._ Good, i'faith!--Come, begin:--that, or something else,--or what you will.