Twelfth Night, Act 3, Scene 2

No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.

No, honestly, I won't stay a moment longer.

Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

Your reason, dear poison, give me your reason.

You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

You really must give us your reason, Sir Andrew.

Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than ever she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard.

Well, I saw your niece show more kindness to the Count's servant than she ever showed me. I saw it in the orchard.

Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that.

Did she see you while she did it, old boy? Tell me that.

As plain as I see you now.

As clearly as I see you now.

This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

That was strong proof of her love toward you.

’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me?

By God's light! Are you trying to make a fool of me?

I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason.

I'll prove it lawful, sir, on the sworn testimony of judgment and reason.

And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.

And those two have served on grand juries since before Noah was a sailor.

She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was balked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy.

She showed the young man kindness right in front of you only to provoke you, to wake up your sleepy-dormouse courage, to put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver. You should have gone up to her then, and with some first-rate jokes, brand-new from the mint, you should have battered the young man into silence. This was expected of you, and this was dodged. You let time wash off the double gold plating of this chance, and now you've sailed into the far north of my lady's good opinion, where you'll hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you win it back by some praiseworthy effort, either of courage or of cunning.

And’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.

If it's to be either way, it must be with courage, because I hate cunning. I'd just as soon be a Brownist as a schemer.

Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my niece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than report of valour.

Why then, build your fortunes on the foundation of courage. Challenge the Count's young man to a fight. Wound him in eleven places. My niece will take note of it, and you can be sure there is no marriage-broker in the world who can do more to recommend a man to a woman than a reputation for courage.

There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

There's no other way but this, Sir Andrew.

Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

Will either of you carry a challenge from me to him?

Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the licence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be amiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. About it.

Go, write it in a soldier's handwriting; be fierce and short. It doesn't matter how clever it is, so long as it's eloquent and inventive. Insult him with all the freedom that ink allows. If you call him 'you' about three times, that won't be out of place, and put down as many lies as will fit on your sheet of paper, even if the sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England. Get to it. Make sure there's enough bitterness in your ink, even if you write with a goose feather — that doesn't matter. Get on with it.

Where shall I find you?

Where shall I find you?

We’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.

We'll come and call you in your room. Go.

This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

This is an expensive little puppet for you, Sir Toby.

I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.

I've been expensive to him, lad — some two thousand pounds' worth or so.

We shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it.

We'll get a remarkable letter out of him. But you won't deliver it.

Never trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy.

Then never trust me again. And by all means goad the young man into replying. I think oxen and wagon-ropes couldn't drag the two of them together. As for Andrew, if you cut him open and found as much blood in his liver as would clog a flea's foot, I'll eat the rest of the body.

And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty.

And his opponent, the young man, shows no great sign of cruelty in his face either.

Look where the youngest wren of nine comes.

Look, here comes the smallest wren of the nestful.

If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow stockings.

If you want a fit of laughter, and want to laugh yourselves into cramps, follow me. That fool Malvolio has turned pagan, a complete traitor to the faith; because no Christian who hopes to be saved by believing correctly could ever believe such impossibly gross nonsense. He's wearing yellow stockings.

And cross-gartered?

And with cross-garters?

Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile and take’t for a great favour.

Most horribly — like a schoolmaster who runs a school in a church. I've stalked him like his murderer. He obeys every detail of the letter I dropped to trap him. He smiles his face into more lines than there are on the new map with the Indies added. You've never seen anything like it. I can hardly stop myself throwing things at him. I know my lady will hit him; and if she does, he'll smile and take it as a great favour.

Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

Come on, take us, take us to where he is.