[_They all three sing._ _Christmas comes but once a year, And therefore we'll be merry._ _Enter_ MARIA. _Mar._ What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. _Sir To._ My lady's a Cataian; we are politicians. Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsay:--[_Sings._]--_And three merry men be we._ _Sir And._ [_Sings._] _And three merry men be we._ _Sir To._ Am I not consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-valley, lady!--[_Sings._]--_There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!_ _Sir And._ [_Sings_] _Lady_,---- _Clo._ Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. _Sir And._ Ay, he does well enough, if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural. [_Sings_.] _Lady_,-- _Sir To._ Let us have another. [_They all three sing and dance._ _Which is the properest day to drink? Saturday,--Sunday,--Monday_,-- _Mar._ For the love of heaven, peace. _Enter_ MALVOLIO, _in a Gown and Cap, with a Light_. _Mal._ My masters, are you mad? or what are you? _Sir And._ [_Sings._] _Monday_,-- _Mal._ Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _Saturday_,-- _Mal._ Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? _Sir To._ We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! _Mal._ Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._ _Mar._ Nay, good Sir Toby. _Clo._ [_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._ _Mal._ Is't even so? _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _But I will never die._ [_Falls on the floor._ _Clo._ [_Sings._] _Sir Toby,--O, Sir Toby,--there you lie._ _Mal._ This is much credit to you. [CLOWN _raises_ SIR TOBY. _Sir To._ [_Sings._] _You lie._--Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? _Clo._ Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too. _Sir To._ Thou'rt i' the right.--Go, sir, rub your chain with crums:--A stoop of wine, Maria! _Mal._ Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any thing more than contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule: She shall know of it, by this hand. [_Exit_ MALVOLIO, _followed by the_ CLOWN, _mocking him_. _Mar._ Go shake your ears.