SIR ANDREW.
Where shall I find you?

SIR TOBY.
We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go.

[Exit SIR ANDREW.]

FABIAN.
This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY.
I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so.

FABIAN.
We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver 't?

SIR TOBY.
Never trust me, then; and by all means stir on the youth to an
answer. I think oxen and wain-ropes cannot hale them together.
For Andrew, if he were open'd, and you find so much blood in his
liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th'
anatomy.

FABIAN.
And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage
of cruelty.

SIR TOBY.