Romeo and Juliet

Sampson. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. Gregory. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sampson. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall. Gregory. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. Sampson. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men I will be cruel with the maids, I will cut off their heads. Gregory. The heads of the maids? Sampson. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gregory. They must take it in sense that feel it. Sampson. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. Gregory. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor-John.--Draw thy tool; Here comes two of the house of Montagues. Sampson. My naked weapon is out: quarrel! I will back thee. Gregory. How! turn thy back and run? Sampson. Fear me not. Gregory. No, marry; I fear thee! Sampson. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. Gregory. I will frown as I pass by; and let them take it as they list. Sampson. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is disgrace to them if they bear it. [Enter Abraham and Balthasar.] Abraham. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sampson. I do bite my thumb, sir. Abraham. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sampson. Is the law of our side if I say ay? Gregory. No. Sampson. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. Gregory. Do you quarrel, sir? Abraham. Quarrel, sir! no, sir. Sampson. But if you do, sir, am for you: I serve as good a man as you. Abraham. No better. Sampson. Well, sir. Gregory. Say better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen. Sampson. Yes, better, sir. Abraham. You lie. Sampson. Draw, if you be men.--Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight.] [Enter Benvolio.] Benvolio. Part, fools! put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords.] [Enter Tybalt.] Tybalt. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death. Benvolio. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. Tybalt. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward!