JULIET. Who is’t that calls? Is it even so? Then I defy you, stars! Thou know’st my lodging. Get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses. I will cut off their heads. GREGORY. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON. ’Tis all one, I will confess to you. PARIS. Do not deny to dance? She that makes dainty, She I’ll swear hath corns. Am I the master