"I am cold."
"Walk about!"
"I am hungry."
"Pull down yonder tobacco-leaf and chew it."
"My friends have forsaken me."
"So did Job's."
"My sweetheart has turned the cold shoulder to me."
"Then do thou turn thy back full to her. Use thy reason, man alive! Hast thou lived to nigh forty years, to be hurt like a boy by a woman's inconstancy? Laugh at her, revile her if thou wilt, rip out round oaths; but, an thou be not quite demented, put not thy courage beneath the foot of her scorn!"
"But I love her."
"Ah, poor fool! There thou hast me. Thou knowst well I have no balm in my box to medicine that hurt. Yet what can't be cured, may be forgot, for a while at least. Wine would do it. Perchance tobacco may—Curse that guard! How good his pipe smells!—I would I had one."