Wou’d I were in love too; I see it makes a body valiant;
One neither feels Hunger nor Cold that is possest with it.
Clo. Thou art i’th’ right, it can do Miracles.
Guil. So it seems, for without a Miracle you and I could never
Have rambled about these Woods all night without either Bottle or Wallet:
I could e’en cry for hunger now.
Clo. What a dull Soul this Fellow hath?
Sure it can never feel the generous Pains
Of Love, as mine does now; oh, how I glory
To find my Heart above the common rate!