Years, months, days, hours, in sighs I sadly spend; 
I black the night wherein I sleepless toss; 
I love my griefs yet wish them at an end; 
Thus time's expense increaseth but my loss. 
I musing stand and wonder at my love, 
That in so fair should be a heart of steel; 
And then I think my fancy to remove, 
But then more painful I my passions feel; 
Thus must I love, sweet fair, until I die, 
And your unkindness doth my love increase. 
I conquered am, I can it not deny; 
My life must end, yet shall my love not cease. 
Then heavens, make Licia fair most kind to me, 
Or with my life my loss may finished be!