Gal. Then by thy works I know thou lovest me?
Pyg. Indeed, I love thee. (Embraces her.)
Gal. What kind of love?
Pyg. I love thee (recollecting himself and releasing her) as a sculptor loves his work!
(Aside.) There is diplomacy in that reply.
Gal. My love is different in kind to thine:
I am no sculptor, and I’ve done no work,
Yet I do love thee; say—what love is mine?
Pyg. Tell me its symptoms, then I’ll answer thee.
Gal. Its symptoms? Let me call them as they come.