Young Writers Society

With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to

her as long as there is a passage in my throat and

drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystrill

that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn

o' the toe like a parish-top.

~Sir Toby Belch~

Twelfth Night

Act One

Scene II

A man stumbled drunkenly through a door that entered into the kitchen of a great house, that once was bright but not was strewn with black in a sign of morning. He was greeted by a small, round woman clad in a dressing-gown and with a stern look of disapproval marring her otherwise decent features. Bottle in hand, he took a swig of the contents as he looked around at the décor.

“Mariah, what is my niece thinking, carrying about like she is? Her brother is dead to be sure, but mourning him thus, casting off all company and desiring no light is foolhardy.” Another swig, “She should be celebrating his life! He called out.

Mariah was quick to shush him. “By God,” she whispered, “Sir Toby you must come in earlier in the evenings, you worry your niece, my mistress so.”

Again, he drank, “She should be worrying after herself, not me.”

“You are all the family she has left, sir, she does right to worry. The drinking and the company that you keep will be your downfall and your death.”

“Just to spite you for saying that, wench, I'll make it my life's purpose to drink and to outlive all you creatures while doing it!” Before he could swill the cured liquid again Mariah relieved him of the bottle.

Ignoring his stunned shout, she quickly locked it in a nearby cabinet before tucking the key in her bosom.

“Honestly, my lord, Olivia despairs of you and that man you brought here to be her wooer.”

“What?” he questioned “She does not like Sir Andrew Auguecheek?”

“No my lord, she does not. She thinks him a fool.”

“Why, he is as good as any man in Illyria, better even!”

“And what makes you say that, my lord?”

“His salary is three-thousand pound a year.”

“Indeed?” Mariah asked coyly, pulling out two chairs at a nearby table and taking a seat in one of them. Toby took the other. “Why,” she continued, “His annual salary will all be spent in the year he has it, for it is easy to see that he is very foolish with his money.”

“And what makes you say that, wench?” Toby demanded.

“He keeps friends with you!” She cried, full of mirth. Toby grimanced.

“Whatever your grievenences against him, I say he is a perfect match for my niece!” he boasted.

“Oh?” Mariah quiried.

“Aye!” Toby cried, “Why, he is very educated in music, speaks several languages, looks very handsome, and is close to her in age. Meanwhile, that duke that pines after her is ten years her senior, being nearly thirty. In conclusion, Andrew is a much better match.”

“The man, as I have said, is a fool. He also is without any title. Olivia would never marry below her station.” Mariah said imperiously.

“He's a noblemen at least, they are not that separated.” Toby bit back. He happened to glance out the window, and what he saw there standing outside of it made his face light up in joy. “You have to but speak of the devil, and he shall appear!” he bellowed, while Mariah made to hush him.

Glancing through the window herself, Mariah did indeed behold the very man that they had been quarreling about for the past ten minutes. Being the only servant of the three, she hastened to open the door for him.

The man bounced, quiet literally bounced, through the door. It was very obvious that he, like Sir Toby, had been at the bottle for God knows how long. Mariah winced at the sight of another drunk man, and sent up a silent prayer begging that the two men together would not make enough noise to wake up the whole household.

“Why, Sir Toby Belch!” Andrew exclaimed, “How are you today, Sir Toby Belch?”

The man he had addressed rose from his seat to clasp him on the back. “Good Sir Andrew, I am as well as I was when I left you at the tavern not an hour ago!”

Andrew giggled-yes, giggled. “Oh, I am so forgetful when I have been at the wine.” He took noticed of Mariah, who, while she was a servant, she was also a lady. He gave her a short, bobbing bow. “Bless you, fair shrew.”

Mariah resisted the urge to glare at him. “And you,” she replied quietly, “kind sir. You are welcome in my lady's house.” Her tone spoke of how he was anything but welcome, but thankfully Andrew was far too drunk enough to notice.

Toby leaned over to whisper in Andrew's ear. “Address her, Andrew, address!” He shoved his arm around the thinner man's shoulders, and flashed a slight smile at Mariah, who narrowed her eyes at him.

“Who's that?” Andrew asked stupidly, glancing at Mariah again.

“My niece's chambermaid. Address, I say!” Toby hissed.

Andrew threw off Toby's arm and stepped in front of the woman. Taking her hand, he bowed over it saying, “Good Mistress Address, I would like to know you better.”

Mariah steeled herself from snapping at him. “My name is Mariah, sir.”

Andrew took this correction in stride. “Good Mistress Mariah Address-”

“No Andrew!” Toby cut him off, “I mean address her as in speak to her, assial her, woo her! Address is not her name!”

Mariah rolled her eyes, and caught sight of the nearby clock. Shaking her hand out of the sweaty palm of Sir Andrew, she curtsied to both gentlemen. “Fare you well, masters.” she said as she straightened. “I take my leave of you both.” Anyone with a brain could tell that she strongly desired to leave, as she practically ran out of the room, but Andrew Auguecheek had no brain to speak of, and Toby was drunk enough that his was half gone. They both bowed to her as she passed through the hall-door, and walked out of sight.

At her leaving, Andrew sighed pathetically and sat in the chair that she had earlier vacated. Toby, even through his stupor, noticed that the man was clearly not in the spirits he had pretended to be in when other company is present.

“What's this then?” he asked as he placed a hand on Andrews thin shoulders, “I do not remember a time when I have seen you this melancholy before.”

“Oh good Sir Toby,” Andrew cried pitifully, as he buried his head in his hands, “There are times when I think that I have no more wit or brains than those of a Christian or an ordinary man. But I do eat a great deal of beef, yet I do not think that it harms my wit.”

“Indeed?” Toby queried as he attempted not to laugh.

“Indeed.” Andrew agreed. “Which is why I have determined to go home tomorrow.”

“Why, my dear man?”

“Your niece will never see me,” he whined, “and even if she did, it is more likely that she will wed the duke who continues to woo her instead of me.”

“She'll not marry the count.” Toby replied decidedly. “She will not marry any one who is that much older than she, nor will she ever marry anyone above her station. Andrew,” he shook the man slightly, “there is still hope for you yet.”

At this statement, the young man's head popped up, and anyone with eyes could see that he was in a far better temper than he had been in mere moments ago. “Why then, I shall stay a month longer! I am a man of a strange mind, it always changes.”

“There's the ticket!” Toby bellowed, slapping Andrew on the back. “Now, let's see if we can't open some of these cupboards and toast to your decision, ay?” The fool was quick to agree.