_Cam._ A parting kiss, sir! What nation, envious of the happiness Which Sicily enjoys in your sweet presence, Can buy you from her? or what climate yield Pleasures transcending those which you enjoy here, Being both beloved and honour'd; the north-star And guider of all hearts; and, to sum up Your full account of happiness in a word, The brother of the king? _Bert._ Do you, alone, And with an unexampled cruelty, Enforce my absence, and deprive me of Those blessings which you, with a polish'd phrase, Seem to insinuate that I do possess, And yet tax me as being guilty of My wilful exile? What are titles to me, Or popular suffrage, or my nearness to The king in blood, or fruitful Sicily, Though it confess'd no sovereign but myself, When you, that are the essence of my being, The anchor of my hopes, the real substance Of my felicity, in your disdain, Turn all to fading and deceiving shadows? _Cam._ You tax me without cause. _Bert._ You must confess it. But answer love with love, and seal the contract In the uniting of our souls, how gladly (Though now I were in action, and assured, Following my fortune, that plumed Victory Would make her glorious stand upon my tent) Would I put off my armour, in my heat Of conquest, and, like Antony, pursue My Cleopatra! Will you yet look on me With an eye of favour? _Cam._ Truth bear witness for me, That, in the judgment of my soul, you are A man so absolute, and circular, In all those wish'd-for rarities that may take A virgin captive, that, though at this instant All scepter'd monarchs of our western world Were rivals with you, and Camiola worthy Of such a competition, you alone Should wear the garland. _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. In the Proëme to Herbert's Travels, which were printed not long after The Maid of Honour, a similar expression is found: "Great Britaine--containes the summe and abridge of all sorts of excellencies, _met here like parallels in their proper centre_."