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.