by Thomas Campion
Fire, fire, fire, fire.
Loe here I burne in such desire
That all the teares that I can straine
Out of mine idle empty braine
Cannot allay my scorching paine.
Come Trent, and Humber, and fayre Thames ;
Dread Ocean, haste with all thy streames :
And if you cannot quench my fire,
O drowne both mee and my desire.
Fire fire, fire, fire.
There is no hell to my desire.
See, all the Riuers backward flye,
And th' Ocean doth his waues deny,
For feare my heate should drinke them dry.
Come, heau'nly showres, then, pouring downe ;
Come you that once the world did drowne :
Some then you spar'd, but now saue
That else must burne, and with mee