Dost thou think to live till his old doublet will make thee a new truss? - Thomas Kyd

Oh eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears;
Oh life, no life, but lively form of death;
Oh world, no world, but mass of public wrongs,
Confused and filled with murder and misdeeds.

What outcries pluck me from my naked bed
And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear.

In time the savage bull sustains the yoke,
In time all haggard hawks will stoop to lure,
In time small wedges cleave the hardest oak,
In time the flint is pierced with softest shower.