SIR ANDREW.
A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

SIR TOBY.
A contagious breath.

SIR ANDREW.
Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.

SIR TOBY.
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.
And you love me, let's do 't; I am dog at a catch.

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

SIR ANDREW.
Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou knave.'

CLOWN.
'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be constrain'd in
't to call thee knave, knight.

SIR ANDREW.
'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave.
Begin, fool: it begins, 'Hold thy peace.'