OLIVIA's garden.
Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabour
VIOLA
Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by
thy tabour?
Clown
No, sir, I live by the church.
VIOLA
Art thou a churchman?
Clown
No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for
I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by
the church.
VIOLA
So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a
beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by thy
tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.
Clown
You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the
wrong side may be turned outward!
VIOLA
Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with
words may quickly make them wanton.
Clown
I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
VIOLA
Why, man?
Clown
Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that
word might make my sister wanton. But indeed words
are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.
VIOLA
Thy reason, man?
Clown
Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and
words are grown so false, I am loath to prove
reason with them.