Fabian

Sir Andrew Aguecheek
No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.
Sir Toby Belch
Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
Fabian
You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek
Marry, I saw your niece do more favors to the
Count’s servingman than ever she bestowed upon
me.
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Olivia
Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to.
Where’s my Cousin Toby? Let some of my people
have a special care of him. I would not have him
miscarry for the half of my dowry.
 Olivia and Maria exit in different directions.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could
condemn it as an improbable fiction.
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