SCENE IBefore OLIVIA'S house.
Enter SEBASTIAN and CLOWN.
Will you make me believe that I am
not sent for you?
Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow:
Let me be clear of thee.
Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not
know you; nor I am not sent to you by my
lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor
your name is not Master Cesario; nor this is
not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so. (11)
I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else:
Thou know'st not me.
Vent my folly; he has heard that
word of some great man and now applies it to
a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great
lubber, the world, will prove a cockney. I
prithee now, ungird thy strangeness and tell
me what I shall vent to my lady: shall I vent
to her that thou art coming?
I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me:
There's money for thee: if you tarry longer, (21)
I shall give worse payment.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand.
These wise men that give fools money get
themselves a good report—after fourteen years'
purchase. Enter SIR ANDREW, SIR TOBY, and FABIAN.
Now, sir, have I met you again?
there's for you.
Why, there's for thee, and there, and there.
Are all the people mad?
Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger (31)
o'er the house.
This will I tell my lady straight: I
would not be in some of your coats for two
Come on, sir; hold.
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. (40)
Let go thy hand.
Come, sir, I will not let you go.
Come, my young soldier, put up your iron:
you are well fleshed; come on.
I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?
If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword.
What, what? Nay, then I must
have an ounce or two of this malapert blood
from you. Enter OLIVIA.
Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, hold! (50)
Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario.
Rudesby, be gone! [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
I prithee, gentle friend,
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby (61)
Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go:
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.
What relish is in this? how runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Nay, come, I prithee; would thou'ldst be ruled by me!
Madam, I will.
O, say so, and so be! [Exeunt.