SCENE I.
SCENE the Street.
Enter Sebastian and Clown.
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 prethee 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. Vent my Folly! I
am afraid this great Lubber the World will prove a Cockney:
I prethee 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 prethee foolish Greek depart from me, there's Mony
for thee. If you tarry longer I shall give worse Payment.
Clo.
By my Troth thou hast an open Hand; these wise
Men that give Fools Mony, get themselves a good Report
after fourteen Years Purchase.
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir And.
Now, Sir, have I met you again? There's for
you.
[Striking Sebastian.
Seb.
Why there's for thee, and there, and there: Are all
the People mad?
[Beating Sir Andrew.
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.
[Exit Clown.
Sir To.
Come on, Sir, hold.
[Holding Sebastian.
-- 871 --
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; tho' 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 flesh'd:
Come on.
Seb.
I will be free from thee. What would'st thou now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy Sword.
Sir To.
What, what? Nay then I must have an Ounce or
two of this malapert Blood from you.
[They draw and fight.
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 prethee, gentle Friend,
[Exeunt Sir Toby and Sir Andrew.
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
May'st smile at this: Thou shalt not chuse but go:
Do not deny, beshrew his Soul for me,
He started one poor Heart of mine in thee.
Seb.
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.
Oli.
Nay come I prethee, would thoud'st be rul'd by me.
Seb.
Madam, I will.
Oli.
O say so, and so be.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
