and hath all the good gifts of nature.

MARIA.
He hath indeed,--almost natural: for, besides that he's a
fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of
a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought
among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

SIR TOBY.
By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that
say so of him. Who are they?

MARIA.
They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

SIR TOBY.
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 coystril 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 Ague-face.

[Enter SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK.]

AGUE-CHEEK.
Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

SIR TOBY.
Sweet Sir Andrew?