Twelfth Night; Or, What You Will

by William Shakespeare

SIR TOBY.
Good, good.

CLOWN.
[Sings.]
What is love? 'T is 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.

SIR ANDREW.
Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou knave.'

CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be constrain'd in 't to call thee knave, knight.