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 fleshed;
come on.
40
Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou [now]?
If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword.
Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce
or two of this malapert blood from [you].