Twelfth Night; or, What You Will

Sir And. An I do not! —

[Exeunt.

SCENE III

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 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. – I pr'ythee, tell me what I shall vent to my lady; Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming?

Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, 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 wise men, that give fools money, get themselves a good report after fourteen years' purchase.

Enter Sir Andrew.

Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? There's for you.

[Striking Sebastian.

Seb. [Draws his sword.] Why, there's for thee, and there, and there: – Are all the people mad?

[Beating Sir Andrew.

Enter Sir Toby and Fabian.

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 flesh'd; come on.

Seb. [Disengages himself.] I will be free from thee.

– What would'st thou now?

If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword.

Sir To. What, what? – [Draws.] – Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.

[They fight.

Enter Olivia, and two Servants.

Fab. Hold, good Sir Toby, hold: – my lady here!

[Exit Fabian.

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! —

Sir To. Come along, knight.

[Exit Sir Toby.

Oli. And you, sir, follow him.

Sir And. Oh, oh! – Sir Toby, —

[Exit Sir Andrew.

Oli. I pr'ythee, gentle friend,
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.

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!