|I love thee….but if thou art a humble fisher’s lass,
are thine eyes bright, for that, a whit the less,
is thy hand not whiter still than milk is white,
is thy body with amorous graces not replete?
Lineage, name, I utterly forget them all,
a slave before you I, the prince’s son, do fall!
I love thee….and when I see thee on the bloomy lea
dancing with the village lads vivaciously
I envy them, and o’er my harsh fate keen,
that I thy slave forever cannot be.
Betwixt us fate hath placed a bar abhorred:
relentless generations of dragomans and lords!