But burns as brightly in a gipsy camp
As in a palace hall. Art thou convinced?
Pre. Aye, that I love thee, as the good love heaven,
But that I am not worthy of that heaven.
How shall I more deserve it?
Vic. Loving more.
Pre. I cannot love thee more; my heart is full.
Vic. Then let it overflow, and I will drink it,
As in the summer-time the thirsty sands
Drink the swift waters of a mountain torrent,