CLOWN.
How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”?
SIR TOBY.
Welcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch.
SIR ANDREW.
By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou spok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman. Hadst it?
CLOWN.
I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.
SIR ANDREW.
Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song.
SIR TOBY.
Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song.
SIR ANDREW.
There’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a—
CLOWN.
Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?
SIR TOBY.
A love-song, a love-song.
SIR ANDREW.
Ay, ay. I care not for good life.