SIR TOBY.
Why, let her except, before excepted.
MARIA.
Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
SIR TOBY.
Confine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps.
MARIA.
That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.
SIR TOBY.
Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
MARIA.
Ay, he.
SIR TOBY.
He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria.
MARIA.
What’s that to th’ purpose?
SIR TOBY.
Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
MARIA.
Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool, and a prodigal.