Clown.
Clo.
Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for you?
-- 66 --
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; note
nor this is not my nose neither&dotup; nothing, that is
so, is so&dotup;
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. Vent my folly!
I am afraid note this great lubber the world will prove a
cockney.—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 note coming?
Seb.
I pr'ythee, foolish Greek14Q0445, depart from me;
There's &dagger2; money 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 money, get themselves a good
report, after fourteen years purchase.
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir A.
Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for
you.
[striking Sebastian.
Seb.
Why, there's for thee, and there, and there, and there:
[striking him again.
Are all the people mad?
Sir T.
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 T.
Come on, sir; hold.
[holding Sebastian.
Sir A.
Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way to
-- 67 --
work with him; I'll have an action of battery against
him, if there be any note law in Illyria: though I strook him
first, yet it's no matter for that.
Seb.
Let go thy hand.
Sir T.
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?
[wrenches from him, and draws.
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir T.
What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce
or two of this malapert blood from you.
[draws too.
Enter Olivia, hastily.
Oli.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.
Sir T.
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
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 choose 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;
-- 68 --
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.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
