I wrote my sighs, and sent them to my love; <br />I praised that fair that none enough could praise; <br />But plaints nor praises could fair Licia move; <br />Above my reach she did her virtues raise, <br />And thus replied: "False Scrawl, untrue thou art, <br />To feign those sighs that nowhere can be found; <br />For half those praises came not from his heart <br />Whose faith and love as yet was never found. <br />Thy master's life, false Scrawl shall be thy doom; <br />Because he burns, I judge thee to the flame; <br />Both your attempts deserve no better room." <br />Thus at her word we ashes both became. <br />Believe me, fair, and let my paper live; <br />Or be not fair, and so me freedom give.<br /><br />Giles Fletcher The Elder<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/licia-sonnets-33/
