Clo.

Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for you?

Seb.
Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow;
Let me be clear of thee.

Clo.

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.

Seb.
I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else;
Thou know'st not me.

Clo.

Vent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now applies it to a fool^{8 note}.

Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber^{9 note}, the world, will prove a cockney^{1 note}.—I pr'ythee now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady; Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming?

Seb.
I pr'ythee, foolish Greek^{2 note}

Clo.

By my troth, thou hast an open hand:— These wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good report after fourteen years' purchase^{3 note}

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.

Sir And.

Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for you.

Seb.

Why, there's for thee, and there, and there: Are all the people mad?

Sir To.

Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.

Clo.

This will I tell my lady straight: I would not be in some of your coats for two-pence.

Sir To.

Come on, sir; hold.

Sir And.

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.

Seb.

Let go thy hand.

Sir To.

Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron: you are well fleshed; come on.

Seb.
I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. [Draws.

Sir To.

What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.

Enter Olivia.

Oli.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.

Sir To.
Madam?

Oli.
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!—I pr'ythee, gentle friend, [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent^{4 note}
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house;
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up^{5 note}

Seb.
What relish is in this^{7 note}? 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!

Oli.
Nay, come, I pr'ythee: 'Would thou'dst be rul'd by me!

Seb.
Madam, I will.

Oli.
O, say so, and so be! [Exeunt.

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