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THe rolling
wheele that runneth often round,
The hardest steele
in tract of time doth teare:
and drizling drops that
often doe redound,
the firmest flint doth in
continuance weare.
Yet cannot I with many a dropping
teare,
and long intreaty soften her hard hart:
that she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare,
or
looke with pitty on my payneful smart.
But when I
pleade, she bids me play my part,
and when I weep,
she sayes teares are but water:
and when I sigh, she
sayes I know the art,
and when I waile she turnes
hir selfe to laughter.
So doe I weepe, and wayle,
and pleade in vaine,
whiles she as steele and flint
doth still remayne.
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