Sar.Hold your hands—
Upon your lives, I say. What, deaf or drunken?
My sword! O fool, I wear no sword: here, fellow,
Give me thy weapon. [To a Guard.
[Sardanapalus snatches a sword from one of the soldiers, and rushes between the combatants—they separate.
Sar.In my very palace!
What hinders me from cleaving you in twain,
Audacious brawlers?
Bel.Sire, your justice.
Sal.Or—180