_Vio._ I know of none; Nor know I you by voice, or any feature. _Ant._ O heavens themselves! _1 Off._ Come, sir, I pray you, go. _Ant._ Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here, I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death; And to his image, which, methought, did promise Most venerable worth, did I devotion. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god!-- Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.-- In nature there's no blemish, but the mind; None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind: Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous-evil Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. [_Exeunt_ ANTONIO _and Officers_. _Sir To._ Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. [_They retire together._ _Vio._ He named Sebastian; I my brother know Yet living in my glass; even such, and so, In favour was my brother; and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament; For him I imitate: O, if it prove, Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! [_Exit_ VIOLA. [_They advance._] _Sir To._ A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare; his dishonesty appears, in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. _Fab._ A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it. _Sir And._ 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him. _Sir To._ Do, cuff him soundly;--but never draw thy sword. _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.