[Enter Juliet.]
JULIET.
Good-even to my ghostly confessor.
FRIAR.
Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
JULIET.
As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
ROMEO.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.
JULIET.
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
FRIAR.
Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
Till holy church incorporate two in one.
[Exeunt.]
