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.
5
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: