Juliet. Good even to my ghostly [confessor].
Friar Laurence. 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,