xnsmv/testtesttest huggingface dataset:
Sir Toby Belch: Gentleman, God save thee.
Sir Toby Belch: That defense thou hast, betake thee to ’t. Of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skillful, and deadly.
Sir Toby Belch: You’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath can furnish man withal.
Sir Toby Belch: He is knight dubbed with unhatched rapier and on carpet consideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies hath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and sepulcher. “ Hob, nob” is his word; “ give ’t or take ’t.”
Sir Toby Belch: Sir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury. Therefore get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety you might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked, for meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.
Sir Toby Belch: I will do so.— Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my return.
Sir Toby Belch: Why, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy.
Sir Toby Belch: Ay, but he will not now be pacified. Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.
Sir Toby Belch: I’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on ’t. This shall end without the perdition of souls. Marry, I’ll ride your horse as well as I ride you.
Sir Toby Belch: I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have persuaded him the youth’s a devil.
Sir Toby Belch: There’s no remedy, sir; he will fight with you for ’s oath sake. Marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of his vow. He protests he will not hurt you.
Sir Toby Belch: Come, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy. The gentleman will, for his honor’s sake, have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it. But he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on, to ’t.
Sir Toby Belch: You, sir? Why, what are you?
Sir Toby Belch: Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
Sir Toby Belch: I’ll be with you anon.
Sir Toby Belch: Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet or two of most sage saws.
Sir Toby Belch: A very dishonest, paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.
Sir Toby Belch: Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.
Sir Toby Belch: I dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet.
Sir Toby Belch: Hold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house.
Sir Toby Belch: Come on, sir, hold!
Sir Toby Belch: Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron. You are well fleshed. Come on.
Sir Toby Belch: What, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
Sir Toby Belch: Madam.
Sir Toby Belch: Jove bless thee, Master Parson.
Sir Toby Belch: To him, Sir Topas.
Sir Toby Belch: The knave counterfeits well. A good knave.
Sir Toby Belch: Well said, Master Parson.
Sir Toby Belch: My most exquisite Sir Topas!
Sir Toby Belch: To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offense with my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.
Sir Toby Belch: That’s all one. Has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on ’t. Sot, didst see Dick Surgeon, sot?
Sir Toby Belch: Then he’s a rogue and a passy-measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.
Sir Toby Belch: Will you help?— an ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull?
Maria: By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights. Your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours.
Maria: Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
Maria: That quaffing and drinking will undo you. I heard my lady talk of it yesterday, and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.
Maria: Ay, he.
Maria: What’s that to th’ purpose?
Maria: Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool and a prodigal.
Maria: He hath indeed, almost natural, for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a great quarreler, and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarreling, ’tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Maria: They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company.
Maria: And you too, sir.
Maria: My name is Mary, sir.
Maria: Fare you well, gentlemen.
Maria: Sir, I have not you by th’ hand.
Maria: Now sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ butt’ry bar and let it drink.
Maria: It’s dry, sir.
Maria: A dry jest, sir.
Maria: Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends. Marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren.
Maria: Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in way of thy excuse. My lady will hang thee for thy absence.
Maria: Make that good.
Maria: A good Lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of “ I fear no colors.”
Maria: In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
Maria: Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent. Or to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?
Maria: You are resolute, then?
Maria: That if one break, the other will hold, or if both break, your gaskins fall.
Maria: Peace, you rogue. No more o’ that. Here comes my lady. Make your excuse wisely, you were best.
Maria: Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you.
Maria: I know not, madam. ’Tis a fair young man, and well attended.
Maria: Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
Maria: Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
Maria: What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me.
Maria: For the love o’ God, peace!
Maria: Nay, good Sir Toby.
Maria: Go shake your ears!
Maria: Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s was today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can do it.
Maria: Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.
Maria: The devil a puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass that cons state without book and utters it by great swaths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that all that look on him love him. And on that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause to work.
Maria: I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on a forgotten matter, we can hardly make distinction of our hands.
Maria: My purpose is indeed a horse of that color.
Maria: Ass, I doubt not.
Maria: Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the Fool make a third, where he shall find the letter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.
Maria: Get you all three into the boxtree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk. He has been yonder i’ the sun practicing behavior to his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for the love of mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
Maria: Nay, but say true, does it work upon him?
Maria: If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady. He will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a color she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.
Maria: If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow stockings.
Maria: Most villainously, like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile and take ’t for a great favor.
Maria: He’s coming, madam, but in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam.
Maria: No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your Ladyship were best to have some guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s wits.
Maria: How do you, Malvolio?
Maria: Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?
Maria: Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him.
Maria: La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God he be not bewitched!
Maria: Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I’ll say.
Maria: O Lord!
Maria: Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby; get him to pray.
Maria: No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
Maria: Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.
Maria: The house will be the quieter.
Maria: You may have very fit occasion for ’t. He is now in some commerce with my lady and will by and by depart.
Maria: Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst.
Maria: Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee not.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Bless you, fair shrew.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: What’s that?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Good Mistress Mary Accost—
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of “ accost”?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Marry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Wherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Why, I think so. I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what’s your jest?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Are you full of them?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has. But I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: An I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: What is “ pourquoi”? Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bearbaiting. O, had I but followed the arts!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Why, would that have mended my hair?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: But it becomes me well enough, does ’t not?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Faith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby. Your niece will not be seen, or if she be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me. The Count himself here hard by woos her.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ th’ strangest mind i’ th’ world. I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters, and yet I will not compare with an old man.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Faith, I can cut a caper.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Ay, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dun-colored stock. Shall we set about some revels?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Taurus? That’s sides and heart.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Nay, by my troth, I know not. But I know to be up late is to be up late.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Faith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Here comes the Fool, i’ faith.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: By my troth, the Fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the Fool has.— In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou spok’st of Pigrogromitus of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus. ’Twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman. Hadst it?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling when all is done. Now, a song!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: There’s a testril of me, too. If one knight give a—
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Ay, ay, I care not for good life.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Excellent good, i’ faith!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Very sweet and contagious, i’ faith.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: An you love me, let’s do ’t. I am dog at a catch.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Most certain. Let our catch be “ Thou Knave.”
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: ’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me “ knave.” Begin, Fool. It begins “ Hold thy peace.”
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Good, i’ faith. Come, begin.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I, too. He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: ’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge him the field and then to break promise with him and make a fool of him.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: O, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I have no exquisite reason for ’t, but I have reason good enough.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I have ’t in my nose, too.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: And your horse now would make him an ass.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: O, ’twill be admirable!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Before me, she’s a good wench.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I was adored once, too.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: ’Slight, I could so beat the rogue!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Pistol him, pistol him!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Fie on him, Jezebel!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: That’s me, I warrant you.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Her c’s, her u’s, and her t’s. Why that?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: So could I too.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Nor I neither.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Or o’ mine either?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I’ faith, or I either?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I’ll make one, too.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I hope, sir, you are, and I am yours.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: That youth’s a rare courtier. “ Rain odors,” well.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: “ Odors,” “ pregnant,” and “ vouchsafed.” I’ll get ’em all three all ready.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Marry, I saw your niece do more favors to the Count’s servingman than ever she bestowed upon me. I saw ’t i’ th’ orchard.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: As plain as I see you now.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: ’Slight, will you make an ass o’ me?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: An ’t be any way, it must be with valor, for policy I hate. I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Where shall I find you?
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Here’s the challenge. Read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper in ’t.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Ay, is ’t. I warrant him. Do but read.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Nay, let me alone for swearing.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Pox on ’t! I’ll not meddle with him.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Plague on ’t! An I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the matter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, gray Capilet.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Pray God he keep his oath!
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Marry, will I, sir. And for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my word. He will bear you easily, and reins well.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: ’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: An I do not—
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Now, sir, have I met you again? There’s for you.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Nay, let him alone. I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I struck him first, yet it’s no matter for that.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: The Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s the very devil incardinate.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: ’Od’s lifelings, here he is!— You broke my head for nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to do ’t by Sir Toby.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: Here comes Sir Toby halting. You shall hear more. But if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you othergates than he did.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek: I’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together.
Fool: Let her hang me. He that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no colors.
Fool: He shall see none to fear.
Fool: Where, good Mistress Mary?
Fool: Well, God give them wisdom that have it, and those that are Fools, let them use their talents.
Fool: Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage, and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.
Fool: Not so, neither, but I am resolved on two points.
Fool: Apt, in good faith, very apt. Well, go thy way. If Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria.
Fool: Wit, an ’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have thee do very oft prove fools, and I that am sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? “ Better a witty Fool than a foolish wit.”— God bless thee, lady!
Fool: Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the Lady.
Fool: Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend. For give the dry Fool drink, then is the Fool not dry. Bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything that’s mended is but patched; virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty’s a flower. The Lady bade take away the Fool. Therefore, I say again, take her away.
Fool: Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non facit monachum. That’s as much to say as, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool.
Fool: Dexteriously, good madonna.
Fool: I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
Fool: Good madonna, why mourn’st thou?
Fool: I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
Fool: The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul, being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
Fool: God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox, but he will not pass his word for twopence that you are no fool.
Fool: Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of Fools!
Fool: Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a Fool, whose skull Jove cram with brains, for— here he comes— one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.
Fool: Good Sir Toby.
Fool: Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman. One draught above heat makes him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him.
Fool: He is but mad yet, madonna, and the Fool shall look to the madman.
Fool: How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “ We Three”?
Fool: I did impeticos thy gratillity, for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock, my lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.
Fool: Would you have a love song or a song of good life?
Fool: O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
Fool: O, stay and hear! Your truelove’s coming,
Fool: That can sing both high and low.
Fool: Trip no further, pretty sweeting.
Fool: Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Fool: Every wise man’s son doth know.
Fool: What is love? ’Tis not hereafter.
Fool: Present mirth hath present laughter.
Fool: What’s to come is still unsure.
Fool: In delay there lies no plenty,
Fool: Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
Fool: Youth’s a stuff will not endure.
Fool: By ’r Lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
Fool: “ Hold thy peace, thou knave,” knight? I shall be constrained in ’t to call thee “ knave,” knight.
Fool: I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
Fool: Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling.
Fool: His eyes do show his days are almost done.
Fool: Sir Toby, there you lie.
Fool: What an if you do?
Fool: O no, no, no, no, you dare not.
Fool: Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ th’ mouth, too.
Fool: Are you ready, sir?
Fool: Come away, come away, death,
Fool: And in sad cypress let me be laid.
Fool: Fly away, fly away, breath,
Fool: I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
Fool: My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
Fool: O, prepare it!
Fool: My part of death, no one so true
Fool: Did share it.
Fool: Not a flower, not a flower sweet
Fool: On my black coffin let there be strown;
Fool: Not a friend, not a friend greet
Fool: My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown.
Fool: A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Fool: Lay me, O, where
Fool: Sad true lover never find my grave
Fool: To weep there.
Fool: No pains, sir. I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Fool: Truly sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.
Fool: Now the melancholy god protect thee and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything and their intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.
Fool: No, sir, I live by the church.
Fool: 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.
Fool: You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward!
Fool: I would therefore my sister had had no name, sir.
Fool: 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.
Fool: Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false I am loath to prove reason with them.
Fool: Not so, sir. I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.