my Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, and
bid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me

To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluolios
a Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not I
consanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. Ladie,
There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady

Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling

An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and so
do I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it more
naturall

To. O the twelfe day of December

Mar. For the loue o' God peace.
Enter Maluolio.

Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?
Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabble
like Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Alehouse
of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Coziers
Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?
Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?
To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp

Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Lady
bad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kinsman,
she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you can