Enter Sebastian and Feste
Will you make me believe that I am not sent for
Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow. Let me
be clear of thee.
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.
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?
I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me.
There's money for thee; if you tarry longer, I shall give
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
Now, sir, have I met you again? There's
He strikes Sebastian
Why, there's for thee! And there!
He beats Sir Andrew with the handle of his dagger
And there! Are all the people mad?
Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the
This will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in
some of your coats, for twopence.
Come on, sir, hold!
He grips Sebastian
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.
Let go thy hand!
Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my
young soldier, put up your iron; you are well fleshed.
I will be free from thee!
He breaks free and draws his sword
What wouldst thou now?
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
Where manners ne'er were preached, out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear Cesario.
Rudesby, be gone!
Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian
I prithee, 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 botched 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.
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!
Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou'dst be ruled by me!
Madam, I will.
O, say so, and so be!