Sir And. Nay, let him alone. I'll go another way to work with him; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.
Seb. Let go thy hand.
Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron: you are well flesh'd; come on.
Seb. [Disengages himself.] I will be free from thee.
—What would'st thou now?
If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir To. What, what?—[Draws.]—Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you.
[They fight.
Enter Olivia, and two Servants.
Fab. Hold, good Sir Toby, hold:—my lady here!
[Exit Fabian.
Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold.