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.