I would exchange gold of the finest grain,
I'd count it wealth, if thee I might possess,
To lose the loftiest station I might gain:
Since, Blanca, thou dost know what I confess,
I pray thee, cease thy lover to disdain,
And grant it may be Blanca I must thank
That in love's lottery I draw no blank.
Though I were sunk in blankest poverty
And but a farthing had to call my own,
If that fair thing were thou, I would not be