Speeches (Lines) for Sir Andrew Aguecheek in "Twelfth Night; or, What You Will"

Sir Toby Belch. With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to
her as long as there is a passage in my throat and
drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystrill
that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn
o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

Sir Toby Belch. Sweet Sir Andrew!

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Bless you, fair shrew.

Sir Toby Belch. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. What's that?

Sir Toby Belch. My niece's chambermaid.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

Maria. My name is Mary, sir.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Good Mistress Mary Accost,--

Sir Toby Belch. You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board
her, woo her, assail her.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
company. Is that the meaning of 'accost'?

Sir Toby Belch. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst
never draw sword again.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never
draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have
fools in hand?

Maria. Sir, I have not you by the hand.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

Maria. Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, bring
your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?

Maria. It's dry, sir.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

Maria. A dry jest, sir.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Are you full of them?

Sir Toby Belch. O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
see thee so put down?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary
put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
than a Christian or an ordinary man has: but I am a
great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.

Sir Toby Belch. No question.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
to-morrow, Sir Toby.

Sir Toby Belch. Pourquoi, my dear knight?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. What is 'Pourquoi'? do or not do? I would I had
bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O, had I but
followed the arts!

Sir Toby Belch. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Why, would that have mended my hair?

Sir Toby Belch. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

Sir Toby Belch. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs
and spin it off.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece
will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one
she'll none of me: the count himself here hard by woos her.

Sir Toby Belch. She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above
her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I
have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't,
man.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the
strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques
and revels sometimes altogether.

Sir Toby Belch. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare
with an old man.

Sir Toby Belch. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Faith, I can cut a caper.

Sir Toby Belch. And I can cut the mutton to't.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong
as any man in Illyria.

Sir Toby Belch. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have
these gifts a curtain before 'em? are they like to
take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost
thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in
a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not
so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What
dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in?
I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy
leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

Sir Toby Belch. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Taurus! That's sides and heart.

Sir Toby Belch. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed after
midnight is to be up betimes; and 'diluculo
surgere,' thou know'st,--

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Nay, my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up
late is to be up late.

Sir Toby Belch. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can.
To be up after midnight and to go to bed then, is
early: so that to go to bed after midnight is to go
to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the
four elements?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists
of eating and drinking.

Sir Toby Belch. Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Sir Toby Belch. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I
had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg,
and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In
sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last
night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the
Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas
very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy
leman: hadst it?

Feste. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose
is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the
Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Excellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all
is done. Now, a song.

Sir Toby Belch. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a--

Sir Toby Belch. A love-song, a love-song.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Ay, ay: I care not for good life.

Feste. [Sings]
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Excellent good, i' faith.

Feste. [Sings]
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

Sir Toby Belch. A contagious breath.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.

Sir Toby Belch. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? shall we
rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three
souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.

Feste. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou knave.'

Feste. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be
constrained in't to call thee knave, knight.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to
call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.'

Feste. I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Good, i' faith. Come, begin.

Feste. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do
I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it
more natural.

Maria. Go shake your ears.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's
a-hungry, to challenge him the field, and then to
break promise with him and make a fool of him.

Maria. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. O, if I thought that I'ld beat him like a dog!

Sir Toby Belch. What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason,
dear knight?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason
good enough.

Sir Toby Belch. Excellent! I smell a device.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I have't in my nose too.

Maria. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. And your horse now would make him an ass.

Maria. Ass, I doubt not.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. O, 'twill be admirable!

Sir Toby Belch. Good night, Penthesilea.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Before me, she's a good wench.

Sir Toby Belch. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me:
what o' that?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I was adored once too.

Sir Toby Belch. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for
more money.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

Sir Toby Belch. Send for money, knight: if thou hast her not i'
the end, call me cut.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

Sir Toby Belch. To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will
fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

Fabian. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock
of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes!

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!

Sir Toby Belch. Ah, rogue!

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Pistol him, pistol him.

Malvolio. There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Fie on him, Jezebel!

Malvolio. 'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
a foolish knight,'--

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. That's me, I warrant you.

Malvolio. 'One Sir Andrew,'--

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

Malvolio. By my life, this is my lady's hand these be her
very C's, her U's and her T's and thus makes she her
great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Her C's, her U's and her T's: why that?

Sir Toby Belch. I could marry this wench for this device.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. So could I too.

Sir Toby Belch. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Nor I neither.

Sir Toby Belch. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Or o' mine either?

Sir Toby Belch. Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy
bond-slave?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I' faith, or I either?

Sir Toby Belch. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I'll make one too.

Viola. And you, sir.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

Viola. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.

Viola. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we
are prevented.
[Enter OLIVIA and MARIA]
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain
odours on you!

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain odours;' well.

Viola. My matter hath no voice, to your own most pregnant
and vouchsafed ear.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Odours,' 'pregnant' and 'vouchsafed:' I'll get 'em
all three all ready.

Olivia. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

Fabian. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the
count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me;
I saw't i' the 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. 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 a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by
some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. An't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy
I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a
politician.

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 fun
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.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Where shall I find you?

Fabian. More matter for a May morning.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Here's the challenge, read it: warrant there's
vinegar and pepper in't.

Fabian. Is't so saucy?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Ay, is't, I warrant him: do but read.

Sir Toby Belch. Go, Sir Andrew: scout me for him at the corner the
orchard like a bum-baily: so soon as ever thou seest
him, draw; and, as thou drawest swear horrible; for
it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a
swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood
more approbation than ever proof itself would have
earned him. Away!

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Nay, let me alone for swearing.

Sir Toby Belch. Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a
firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard and
all, and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal
motion, that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he
pays you as surely as your feet hit the ground they
step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.

Sir Toby Belch. Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can
scarce hold him yonder.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Plague on't, an I thought he had been valiant and so
cunning in fence, I'ld have seen him damned ere I'ld
have challenged him. Let him let the matter slip,
and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet.

Sir Toby Belch. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman
will, for his honour's sake, have one bout with you;
he cannot by the duello avoid it: but he has
promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he
will not hurt you. Come on; to't.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Pray God, he keep his oath!

Viola. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Marry, will I, sir; and, for that I promised you,
I'll be as good as my word: he will bear you easily
and reins well.

Fabian. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.

Sir Toby Belch. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. An I do not,--

Feste. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men
that give fools money get themselves a good
report--after fourteen years' purchase.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for you.

Sir Toby Belch. Come on, sir; hold.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Nay, let him alone: I'll go another way to work
with him; I'll have an action of battery against
him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I
struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.

Olivia. O, do not swear!
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently
to Sir Toby.

Olivia. What's the matter?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. He has broke my head across and has given Sir Toby
a bloody coxcomb too: for the love of God, your
help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.

Olivia. Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we took him for
a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.

Orsino. My gentleman, Cesario?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 'Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for
nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to do't
by Sir Toby.

Viola. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you:
You drew your sword upon me without cause;
But I bespoke you fair, and hurt you not.

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me: I
think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.
[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and Clown]
Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more:
but if he had not been in drink, he would have
tickled you othergates than he did.

Olivia. Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?

Sir Andrew Aguecheek. I'll help you, Sir Toby, because well be dressed together.