CAPULET.
So many guests invite as here are writ.
[Exit first Servant.]
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
SECOND SERVANT.
You shall have none ill, sir; for I’ll try if they can lick their fingers.
CAPULET.
How canst thou try them so?
SECOND SERVANT.
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.