When aire’s chill North his noisome frosts shall blowe
All ouer earth, and all the wide sea throwe
At Heauen in hills, from colde horse-breeding Thrace;
The beaten earth, and all her Syluane race
Roring and bellowing with his bitter strokes;
[296]Plumps of thick firre-trees and high crested-Okes
Torne up in vallies; [297]all Aire’s floud let flie
In him, at Earth; [298] sad nurse of all that die.
Wilde beasts abhor him; and run clapping close
Their sterns betwixt their thighs; and euen all those