Let go thy hand.

SIR TOBY.
Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up
your iron: you are well flesh'd; come on.

SEBASTIAN.
I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.

SIR TOBY.
What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this
malapert blood from you.

[Enter OLIVIA.]

OLIVIA.
Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold!

SIR TOBY.
Madam!

OLIVIA.
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, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN.]