Pale are my looks, forsaken of my life, 
Cinders my bones, consume'd with thy flame, 
Floods are my tears, to end this burning strife, 
And yet I sigh for to increase the same; 
I mourn alone because alone I burn; 
Who doubts of this, then let him learn to love; 
Her looks cold ice into a flame can turn, 
As I distresséd in myself do prove. 
Respect, fair Licia, what my torments are; 
Count but the tithe both of my sighs and tears; 
See how my love doth still increase my care, 
And care's increase my life to nothing wears. 
Send but a sigh my flame for to increase, 
Or lend a tear and cause it so to cease.