SCENE I.
The Street before Olivia's House.
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 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 this great lubber, the world, will
prove a cockney11 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 Greek12 note, depart from me.
There's money for thee: if you tarry longer,
I shall give worse payment.
Clo.
By my troth, thou hast an open hand.—These
-- 399 --
wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good
report after fourteen years' purchase1 note.
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.
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 would'st thou now?
If thou dar'st tempt me farther, draw thy sword?2 note.
Sir To.
What, what! Nay then, I must have an
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
[Draws.
Enter Olivia.
Oli.
Hold, Toby! on thy life, I charge thee, hold!
-- 400 --
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 pry'thee, 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;
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.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
