SIR ANDREW.
Faith, I can cut a caper.
SIR TOBY.
And I can cut the mutton to't.
SIR ANDREW.
And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in
Illyria.
SIR TOBY.
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. What dost
thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the
excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd under the star
of a galliard.
SIR ANDREW.
Ay, 't is strong, and it does indifferent well in flame-colour'd
stock. Shall we set about some revels?
SIR TOBY.
What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?
SIR ANDREW.
Taurus! That's sides and heart.
SIR TOBY.
No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha! higher!
ha, ha, excellent!
[Exeunt.]
