Processe of tyme worketh suche wounder

Processe of tyme worketh suche wounder.
That water, which is of kynd so soft,
Doeth perse the marbell stone a sender
By litle droppes faling from a loft.

And yet an hert that sems so tender
Receveth no dropp of the stilling teres.
That alway still cause me to render
The vain plaint that sowndes not in her eres.

So cruel alas is nowght alyve,
So fiers, so froward, so owte of fframe ;
But some way, some tyme, may so contryve
By mens the wild to temper and tame.

And I that alwaies have sought and seke
Eche place, eche tyme, for som lucky daye,
This fiers Tigre : lesse I fynde her meke
And more denyd, the lenger I pray.

The lyon in his raging furor
Forberis that sueth mekenes for his (boote);
And thou alas, in extreme dolor
The hert so low thou tredis under thy foote.

Eche fiers thing lo how thou doest excede,
And hides it under so humble a face;
And yet the humble to helpe at nede
Nought helpeth tyme, humblenes, nor place.