Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight?
Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I'll not compare with an old man.
Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?
Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.
Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria.
Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in?—I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the star of a galliard.
Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-colour'd stock. Shall we set about some revels?
Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?