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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374472" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XVIII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374472" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">THe rolling wheele that runneth often round,<br>The hardest steele in tract of time doth teare:<br>and drizling drops that often doe redound,<br>the firmest flint doth in continuance weare.<br>Yet cannot I with many a dropping teare,<br>and long intreaty soften her hard hart:<br>that she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare,<br>or looke with pitty on my payneful smart.<br>But when I pleade, she bids me play my part,<br>and when I weep, she sayes teares are but water:<br>and when I sigh, she sayes I know the art,<br>and when I waile she turnes hir selfe to laughter.<br>So doe I weepe, and wayle, and pleade in vaine,<br>whiles she as steele and flint doth still remayne.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edmund+Spenser">Edmund Spenser</a></strong></div>

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