FICKLE
Wavering Changeable
Tossed about by every wind of doctrine
He is a creature of moods and moments
He is as whimsical as a butterfly
He is without anchor and without port
The mood of the moment
Conquered by every passing whim
The very sport of adverse winds
The caprice of the moment
No one can blow and swallow at the same time
Like a butterfly driven aimlessly before the breeze
An inspiration not amounting to a fixed resolve
An impractical sort of dreamer
The refinement of speculation
He flits from scheme to scheme
As changeable as the moon
Drifting like an idle straw at the mercy of the wind
Like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed
Fickle and irresolute
I am a feather for each wind that blows.
The Winter’s Tale, II., 3