Winter, the sworne enemie to summer, the friend to none but colliers
and woodmongers: the frostbitten churl that hangs his nose still over
the fire: the dog that bites fruits, and the devil that cuts down
trees, the unconscionable binder up of vintners' faggots, and the only
consumer of burnt sack and sugar: This cousin to Death, father to
sickness, and brother to old age, shall not show his hoary bald-pate
in this climate of ours (according to our usual computation) upon the
twelfth day of December, at the first entering of the sun into the
first minute of the sign Capricorn, when the said Sun shall be at his
greatest south declination from the equinoctial line, and so forth,
with much more such stuff than any mere Englishman can understand--no,
my countrymen, never beat the bush so long to find out Winter, where
he lies, like a beggar shivering with cold, but take these from me as
certain and most infallible rules, know when Winter plums are ripe and
ready to be gathered.
When Charity blows her nails and is ready to starve, yet not so much
as a watchman will lend her a flap of his frieze gown to keep her
warm: when tradesmen shut up shops, by reason their frozen-hearted
creditors go about to nip them with beggary: when the price of
sea-coal riseth, and the price of men's labour falleth: when every
chimney casts out smoke, but scarce any door opens to cast so much as
a maribone to a dog to gnaw; when beasts die for want of fodder in the
field, and men are ready to famish for want of food in the city; when
the first word that a wench speaks at your coming into the room in a
morning is, "Prithee send for some faggots," and the best comfort a
sawyer beats you withal is to say, "What will you give me?"; when
gluttons blow their pottage to cool them; and Prentices blow their
nails to heat them; and lastly when the Thames is covered over with
ice and men's hearts caked over and crusted with cruelty: Then mayest
thou or any man be bold to swear it is winter.
_Thomas Dekker._