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!