Save thee, friend, and thy music
Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live
by thy tabor?
No, sir, I live by the church.
Art thou a churchman?
No such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I
do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.
A sentence is but a chev’ril glove to a good wit.
How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!
So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar if a
beggar dwell near him, or the church stands by thy
tabor if thy tabor stand by the church.
You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
but a chev’ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the
wrong side may be turned outward!
Nay, that’s certain. They that dally nicely with
words may quickly make them wanton.
I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.
Why, sir, her name’s a word, and to dally with
that word might make my sister wanton. But,
indeed, words are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.
Thy reason, man?
Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words,
and words are grown so false I am loath to prove
reason with them.
I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car’st for nothing.
Not so, sir. I do care for something. But in my
conscience, sir, I do not care for you. If that be to
care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.
Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s Fool?
No, indeed, sir. The Lady Olivia has no folly. She
will keep no Fool, sir, till she be married, and Fools
are as like husbands as pilchers are to herrings: the
husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her Fool but
her corrupter of words.
I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s.
Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the
sun; it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but
the Fool should be as oft with your master as with
my mistress. I think I saw your Wisdom there.
Nay, an thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee.