JULIA  And yet I would I had o’erlooked the letter.

It were a shame to call her back again

And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.

What fool is she, that knows I am a maid

And would not force the letter to my view,

Since maids in modesty say ‘No’ to that

Which they would have the profferer construe ‘Ay’.

Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love

That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse

And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!   (1.2.50-59)

The comedy is partly located in how long Julia pauses before speaking, and in the expressions that cross her face, as she comes down from her peak of righteous indignation and, as Lucetta suggests, ruminates. And yet I would I had o’erlooked the letter. Ooooo, I wish I’d read it! A frustrated admission, or a rueful one; an admission of her real feelings, as well as curiosity. Why am I like this? Why? Adolescent embarrassment. Thinking aloud: it were a shame to call her back again and pray her to a fault for which I chid her. How totally embarrassing to climb down like that, eat my words, ask her pardon AND ask her to do exactly the thing I just told her off for. Oooooo! Why am I so…? Another thought—maybe it’s not entirely my fault that I’m in my situation, Lucetta should have known better! It’s her fault! What fool is she, that knows I am a maid and would not force the letter to my view—she should have known how I’d react, how I’d prevaricate and refuse out of modesty and youthful inexperience; she should have just made me take it, made me read it! A slightly uncomfortable/depressing bit of internalised misogyny, especially in the context of the play’s later events: everyone knows that girls say no when really they mean yes, after all. Maids in modesty say ‘No’ to that which they would have the profferer construe ‘Ay’. It comes out like something parroted, perhaps, not fully understood? Or else a matter-of-fact life-lesson; this is how the world is, and Lucetta should have known, should have made me read it. Hmmm. Better not dwell on that too long, but important to note it. Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love that like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, and presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! It’s so confusing, one moment one thing, then another the next, up and down, all over the place. I don’t know what I want; I don’t know how to act or be. One moment I’m lashing out, the next moment I’m begging for forgiveness. Love…

Shakespeare is good at teenagers. There are the seeds of Juliet in this, albeit with much lower stakes and less eloquence.