CLOWN. [sings.]
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear, your true love’s coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting.
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man’s son doth know.
SIR ANDREW.
Excellent good, i’ faith.
SIR TOBY.
Good, good.
CLOWN.
What is love? ’Tis not hereafter,
Present mirth hath present laughter.
What’s to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
SIR ANDREW.
A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
SIR TOBY.
A contagious breath.
SIR ANDREW.
Very sweet and contagious, i’ faith.
SIR TOBY.
To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that?
SIR ANDREW.
And you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch.
CLOWN.
By’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.