To. What, what? Nay then I must haue an Ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. Enter Oliuia.
Ol. Hold Toby, on thy life I charge thee hold
To. Madam
Ol. Will it be euer thus? Vngracious wretch,
Fit for the Mountaines, and the barbarous Caues,
Where manners nere were preach'd: out of my sight.
Be not offended, deere Cesario:
Rudesbey be gone. I prethee gentle friend,
Let thy fayre wisedome, not thy passion sway
In this vnciuill, and vniust extent
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And heare thou there how many fruitlesse prankes
This Ruffian hath botch'd vp, that thou thereby
Mayst smile at this: Thou shalt not choose but goe:
Do not denie, beshrew his soule for mee,
He started one poore heart of mine, in thee
Seb. What rellish is in this? How runs the streame?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dreame:
Let fancie still my sense in Lethe steepe,
If it be thus to dreame, still let me sleepe
Ol. Nay come I prethee, would thoud'st be rul'd by me
Seb. Madam, I will
Ol. O say so, and so be.
Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda.
Enter Maria and Clowne.