Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Twelfth Night > Act IV, scene I

	[Enter SEBASTIAN and Clown]

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

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

Clown: 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.

SEBASTIAN: I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else: Thou
	know'st not me.

Clown: 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?

SEBASTIAN: I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me: There's
	money for thee: if you tarry longer, I shall give
	worse payment.

Clown: By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men
	that give fools money get themselves a good
	report--after fourteen years' purchase.


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

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

SIR TOBY BELCH: Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.

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


SIR TOBY BELCH: Come on, sir; hold.

SIR ANDREW: 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.

SEBASTIAN: Let go thy hand.

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

SEBASTIAN: I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? If
	thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword.

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

	[Enter OLIVIA]

OLIVIA: Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, hold!


OLIVIA: 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 prithee, gentle friend,
	Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
	In this uncivil and thou 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
	Mayst 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.

SEBASTIAN: 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!

OLIVIA: Nay, come, I prithee; would thou'ldst be ruled by me!

SEBASTIAN: Madam, I will.

OLIVIA:                   O, say so, and so be!



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