HEAR how my Sighs are echoed by the wind!
See how my Tears are pitied by the rain!
Feel what a Flame possessèd hath my mind!
Taste but the Grief which I possess in vain!
Then if my Sighs, the blustering wind surpass;
And wat'ry Tears, the drops of rain exceed;
And if no Flame like mine nor is, nor was;
Nor Grief like that whereon my soul doth feed:
Relent, fair LICIA! when my Sighs do blow:
Yield at my Tears! that flintlike drops consume:
Accept the Flame! that doth my incense show:
Allow the Grief! that is my heart's perfume:
Thus Sighs, and Tears, Flame, Grief, shall plead for me;
So shall I pray, and you a goddess be.