SIR TOBY.
I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—
FABIAN.
Good.
SIR TOBY.
Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain.
FABIAN.
Still you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good.
SIR TOBY.
Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
Andrew Aguecheek.
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him.
MARIA.
You may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.
SIR TOBY.
Go, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a bum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st, swear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away.
SIR ANDREW.
Nay, let me alone for swearing.
[Exit.]
SIR TOBY.
Now will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of valour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices.