Marry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.
CAPULET.
Go, begone.
[Exit second Servant.]
We shall be much unfurnish’d for this time.
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?
NURSE.
Ay, forsooth.
CAPULET.
Well, he may chance to do some good on her.
A peevish self-will’d harlotry it is.
Enter Juliet.
NURSE.
See where she comes from shrift with merry look.
CAPULET.
How now, my headstrong. Where have you been gadding?
JULIET. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition