SIR ANDREW. 'T were as good a deed as to drink when a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of him.
SIR TOBY. Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.
MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know I can do it.
SIR TOBY.
Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.
MARIA.
Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
SIR ANDREW.
O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog!
SIR TOBY.
What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight?
SIR ANDREW.
I have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have reason good enough.
MARIA. The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing constantly, but a time-pleaser; an affection'd ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
SIR TOBY.
What wilt thou do?