All this is mighty well, but you do not stop there; imagination is boundless.
After giving me imaginary wit and beauty, you give me imaginary passions, and you tell me I'm in love: if I am, 'tis a perfect sin of ignorance, for I don't so much as know the man's name: I have been studying these three hours, and cannot guess who you mean.

I passed the days of Nottingham races, [at] Thoresby, without seeing or even wishing to see one of the sex.

Now, if I am in love, I have very hard fortune to conceal it so industriously from my own knowledge, and yet discover it so much to other people.

'Tis against all form to have such a passion as that, without giving one sigh for the matter.

Pray tell me the name of him I love, that I may (according to the laudable custom of lovers) sigh to the woods and groves hereabouts, and teach it to the echo.