Bert. If so, what diverts
Your favour from me?
Cam. No mulct in yourself,
Or in your person, mind, or fortune.
Bert. What then?
Cam. The consciousness of mine own wants: alas! sir,
We are not parallels; but, like lines divided,
Can ne'er meet in one centre[145]. Your birth, sir,
Without addition, were an ample dowry
For one of fairer fortunes; and this shape,
Were you ignoble, far above all value:
To this so clear a mind, so furnish'd with
Harmonious faculties moulded from heaven,
That though you were Thersites in your features,
Of no descent, and Irus in your fortunes,
Ulysses-like, you'd force all eyes and ears
To love, but seen; and, when heard, wonder at
Your matchless story: but all these bound up
Together in one volume!—give me leave
With admiration to look upon them;
But not presume, in my own flattering hopes,
I may or can enjoy them.
Bert. How you ruin
What you would seem to build up! I know no
Disparity between us: you're an heir,
Sprung from a noble family; fair, rich, young,
And every way my equal.
Cam. Sir, excuse me;
One aerie with proportion ne'er discloses
The eagle and the wren[146]:—tissue and frieze
In the same garment, monstrous! But suppose
That what 's in you excessive were diminish'd,
And my desert supplied; the stronger bar,
Religion, stops our entrance: you are, sir,
A knight of Malta, by your order bound
To a single life; you cannot marry me;
And, I assure myself, you are too noble
To seek me, though my frailty should consent,
In a base path.
Bert. A dispensation, lady,
Will easily absolve me.
Cam. O take heed, sir!
When what is vow'd to heaven is dispensed with,
To serve our ends on earth, a curse must follow,
And not a blessing.
Bert. Is there no hope left me?
Cam. Nor to myself, but is a neighbour to
Impossibility. True love should walk
On equal feet; in us it does not, sir:
But rest assured, excepting this, I shall be
Devoted to your service.