Act IV, Scene 1
The Street before OLIVIA'S House
Enter SEBASTIAN and FESTE.
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. 5
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.
I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else. Thou knowest not me. 10
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? 15
I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me;
There's money for thee; if you tarry longer
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 20
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. 25
Are all the people mad?
Beating SIR ANDREW.
Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.
This will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of
your coats for twopence. 30
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 35
law in Illyria: though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.
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? 40
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.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee hold.
Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 50
Where manners ne'er were preached! Out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario!--
Rudesby, be gone!--I prithee, gentle friend,
Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 55
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 botched up, that thou thereby
Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go; 60
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; 65
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou'dst be ruled by me!
Madam, I will.
O, say so, and so be!
Twelfth Night III.iv : Twelfth Night IV.ii