Maria

Andrew
Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?
Toby
Sweet Sir Andrew!
Andrew, to Maria
Bless you, fair shrew.

Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
than a Christian or an ordinary man has.

Maria 
And you too, sir.
Toby
Accost,
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Maria
Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I
will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter
in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy
absence.
Feste
Let her hang me. He that is well hanged in this
world needs to fear no colors.
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I know him, madam. At a marriage feast
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnizèd
In Normandy, saw I this Longaville.
A man of sovereign parts he is esteemed,
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms.
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue’s gloss,
If virtue’s gloss will stain with any soil,
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Malvolio
My masters, are you mad? Or what are you?
Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty but to
gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do you
make an ale-house of my lady’s house, that you
squeak out your coziers’ catches without any mitigation
or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of
place,
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Princess
We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.
Rosaline
They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.
That same Berowne I’ll torture ere I go.

Folly in fools bears not so strong a note
As fool’ry in the wise

O, that I knew he were but in by th’ week,
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