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Now, by my maidenhead at twelve years old I bade her come. What, lamb! What, ladybird! God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!
Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her fourth to me.
How now? Who calls?
Madam, I am here. What is your will?
This is the matter.—Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret.—Nurse, come back again. I have remembered me. Thou’s hear our counsel. Thou know’st my daughter’s of a pretty age.
Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
She’s not fourteen.
I’ll lay fourteen of my teeth—and yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four—she is not fourteen. How long is it now to Lammastide?
A fortnight and odd days.
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