I wrote my sighs, and sent them to my love; 
I praised that fair that none enough could praise; 
But plaints nor praises could fair Licia move; 
Above my reach she did her virtues raise, 
And thus replied: "False Scrawl, untrue thou art, 
To feign those sighs that nowhere can be found; 
For half those praises came not from his heart 
Whose faith and love as yet was never found. 
Thy master's life, false Scrawl shall be thy doom; 
Because he burns, I judge thee to the flame; 
Both your attempts deserve no better room." 
Thus at her word we ashes both became. 
Believe me, fair, and let my paper live; 
Or be not fair, and so me freedom give.