You are but a beloved, an adored woman.
This love has nothing to do with your royalty, and while I confess it to you, I do not think that you abase yourself when you receive it.

For the true love of a man is ever the holiest gift that he can present to a woman, and if a beggar dedicates it to a queen, she must feel herself honored by it.

Oh, queen, I am a beggar.

I lie at your feet and raise my hands beseechingly to you; but I want not charity, I want not your compassion and pity, which may, perhaps, grant me an alms to lessen my misery.

No, I want you yourself.