VIOLA.
Nay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee.
CLOWN.
Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!
VIOLA.
By my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within?
CLOWN.
Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?
VIOLA.
Yes, being kept together, and put to use.
CLOWN.
I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus.
VIOLA.
I understand you, sir; ’tis well begged.
CLOWN.
The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say “element”, but the word is overworn.
[Exit.]
VIOLA.
This fellow is wise enough to play the fool,
And to do that well, craves a kind of wit:
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time,
And like the haggard, check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice
As full of labour as a wise man’s art:
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit;
But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit.