The rolling wheele

The rolling wheele that runneth often round,

The hardest steel in tract of time doth teare:

And drizzling drops that often doe redound,

The firmest flint doth in continuance weare:

Yet cannot I, with many a dropping teare,

And long intreatie, soften her hard hart,

That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare,

Or look with pitty on my painefull Smart.

But when I plead, she bids me play my part,

And when I weepe, she sayes. Teares are but water:

And when I sigh, she sayes, I knowe the art,

And when I waile, she turnes herselfe to laughter.

But when I plead...

So doe I weepe and waile, and plead in vaine,

Whiles she as steele and flint doth still remaine.