O Gad! I swear you'd make one sick to hear you.

ARAM. Bless me! what have I said to move you thus?

BELIN. Oh, you have raved, talked idly, and all in commendation of
that filthy, awkward, two-legged creature man. You don't know what
you've said; your fever has transported you.

ARAM. If love be the fever which you mean, kind heaven avert the
cure. Let me have oil to feed that flame, and never let it be
extinct till I myself am ashes.

BELIN. There was a whine! O Gad, I hate your horrid fancy. This
love is the devil, and, sure, to be in love is to be possessed.
'Tis in the head, the heart, the blood, the--all over. O Gad, you
are quite spoiled. I shall loathe the sight of mankind for your
sake.

ARAM. Fie! this is gross affectation. A little of Bellmour's
company would change the scene.

BELIN. Filthy fellow! I wonder, cousin -

ARAM. I wonder, cousin, you should imagine I don't perceive you
love him.

BELIN. Oh, I love your hideous fancy! Ha, ha, ha, love a man!

ARAM. Love a man! yes, you would not love a beast.