There’s all that can supply most curious minds,
With such varieties of cunning signs
That I do think no man doth understand;
Such merry fancies ne’r were on the land;
There is such whimsies on the frozen ice,
Make some believe the Thames a Paridice.
And though these sights be to our admiration
Yet our sins, our sins, do call for lamentation.
Though such unusual frosts to us are strange,
Perhaps it may predict some greater change;