1 Younger than she are happy mothers made.
2 Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
3 I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift.
4 Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy.
5 The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend, And turns it to exile; there art thou happy.
6 But come young waverer, come go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love.
7 These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
8 Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead, or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him.'
9 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.