_Oli._ Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st move That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [_Exeunt._ SCENE IV. _A Room in_ OLIVIA'S _House_. _Enter_ SIR ANDREW, FABIAN, _and_ SIR TOBY. _Sir And._ No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. _Sir To._ Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. _Fab._ You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew. _Sir And._ Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's serving man, than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw't this moment in the garden. _Sir To._ Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that. _Sir And._ As plain as I see you now. _Fab._ This was a great argument of love in her toward you. _Sir And._ 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? _Fab._ I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. _Sir To._ And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah was a sailor. _Fab._ She did show favour to the youth in your sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone in your liver: you should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for at your hand, and this was baulk'd: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion: where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy. _Sir And._ An it be any way, it must be with valour; for policy I hate. _Sir To._ Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the Count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; my niece shall take note of it: and assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's commendation with woman, than report of valour. _Fab._ There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. _Sir And._ Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? _Sir To._ Go write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him with the license of ink: if thou _thou'st_ him some thrice, it shall not be amiss; and as many _lies_ as will lie in thy sheet of paper; although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter: About it. _Sir And._ Where shall I find you? _Sir To._ We'll call thee at the _cubiculo:_ Go. [_Exit_ SIR ANDREW. _Fab._ This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. _Sir To._ I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand strong, or so.