Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold!
45
Sir To. Madam!
Oli. 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.
I prithee, gentle [friend],