The full text of Shakespeare's Twelfth-Night : Act 4 Scene 1
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The Street adjoining 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 prithee, 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 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?
Seb. I prithee, 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.
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, and there! [Beating SIR ANDREW.
Are all the people mad?
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 twopence. [Exit.
Sir To. [Holding SEBASTIAN.] Come on, sir: hold.
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. [Disengaging himself.] What wouldst thou now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir To. What, what! Nay then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. [Draws.
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! [Exeunt SIR TOBY, 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 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.
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 prithee. Would thou'dst be rul'd by me!
Seb. Madam, I will.
Oli. O! say so, and so be! [Exeunt.
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