I am dedicated to you because the most disinterested feelings that abound in my being draw me towards you and have woven bonds, which have found you like a song. And I'm not a sailor, I don't know these knots. I affect for your person, a love so pure that it condemns any inclination and appeal to complexion or any carnal temptation although, to speak of your flesh, and already punish me for my arrogance for daring to describe with words so weak and unfaithful to reality; the softness of this one, which does not even rival the goose feathers from which I have made you the softest down that keeps you chuad in winter, could well let my mind wander to ideas that are not very clear. My affection, so detached from all the vanities that surround us, does not compete with the poor sycophancy that these idiots express to you, who insult you in passing by their insufficiency and poverty. Please, master of my heart, of my satiety, of my virtue, trample me with your piety, but from my sight, remain his horizon.