SIR ANDREW.
Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
SIR TOBY.
[Sings.] O’ the twelfth day of December—
MARIA.
For the love o’ God, peace!
Enter Malvolio.
MALVOLIO.
My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’ catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you?
SIR TOBY.
We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
MALVOLIO.
Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that, though she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell.
SIR TOBY.
[Sings.] Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.
MARIA.
Nay, good Sir Toby.
CLOWN.
[Sings.] His eyes do show his days are almost done.