Who’s there, besides foul weather?
Who's there, besides foul weather?
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
I know you. Where's the King?
Contending with the fretful elements;
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea
Or swell the curlèd waters ‘bove the main,
That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,
Which the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage
Catch in their fury and make nothing of;
Strives in his little world of man to outscorn
The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion and the belly-pinchèd wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs
And bids what will take all.
But who is with him?
None but the Fool, who labors to outjest
His heart-struck injuries.