Gregory, I swear, we can’t let them humiliate us. We won’t take their garbage.
Maybe you should focus on pulling yourself out of trouble, Sampson.
It’s all the same. I’ll be a harsh master to them. After I fight the men, I’ll be nice to the women—I’ll cut off their heads.
The fight is between our masters, and we men who work for them.
You mean however they dare. I’ll bite my thumb at them. That’s an insult, and if they let me get away with it they’ll be dishonored. (SAMPSON BITES HIS THUMB)
*ABRAM and another servant of the Montagues enter.*
I’ll frown at them as they pass by, and they can react however they want.
Are you biting your thumb at us?
No, sir, I’m not biting my thumb at you, but I am biting my thumb.
Break it up, you fools. Put your swords away. You don’t know what you’re doing.
Pull out your swords, if you’re men. Gregory, remember how to slash.
What? You take out your sword and then talk about peace? I hate the word peace like I hate hell, all Montagues, and you. Let’s go at it, coward!