1 No, believe me, 'tis very cold, the wind is northerly.'
2 When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
3 Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend Which is the mightier.
4 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, And you are stay'd for.
5 And, sister, as the winds give benefit And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you.
6 Therefore prepare thyself; The bark is ready, and the wind at help, Th'associates tend, and everything is bent For England.
7 Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword Th'unnerved father falls.
8 If he be now return'd, As checking at his voyage, and that he means No more to undertake it, I will work him To exploit, now ripe in my device, Under the which he shall not choose but fall; And for his death no wind shall breathe, But even his mother shall uncharge the practice And call it accident.
9 The other motive, Why to a public count I might not go, Is the great love the general gender bear him, Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, Would like the spring that turneth wood to stone, Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows, Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, Would have reverted to my bow again, And not where I had aim'd them.