No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer

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. I saw ‘t i' th' orchard.
Sir Toby Belch
Did she see thee  the while, old boy? Tell me
that.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek
As plain as I see you now.
Fabian
This was a great argument of love in her toward
you.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek
‘Slight, will you make an ass o' me?
Fabian
I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of
judgment and reason.
Sir Toby Belch
And they have been grand-jurymen since before
Noah was a sailor.
Fabian
She did show favor to the youth in your sight
only to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse
valor, 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 a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem
it by some laudable attempt either of valor or
policy.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek
An ‘t be any way, it must be with valor, for
policy I hate. I had as lief be a Brownist as a
politician.
Sir Toby Belch
Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis
of valor. 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 valor.
Fabian
There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek
Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
Sir Toby Belch
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 license of
ink. If thou “thou”-est 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.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek
Where shall I find you?
Sir Toby Belch
We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.

Sir Andrew exits.