Echo. Swine!
Glut. Will it hurt me if I eat too much?
Echo. Much!
Glut. Thou mockest me, nymph, I’ll not believe it.
Echo. Believe it!
Glut. Dost thou condemn, then, what I do?
Echo. I do.
Glut. Is it that which brings infirmities?
Echo. It is!
Glut. Then, sweetest temperance, I’ll love thee!