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.
A sense that I am made by thee for thee,
That I've no will that is not wholly thine,