WILL SUM.  Ay, that bounty I would fain meet, to borrow money of; he is
fairly bless’d now-a-days, that ’scapes blows when he begs. Verba dandi
et reddendi go together in the grammar rule:  there is no giving but
with condition of restoring. 
Ah! benedicite: 
Well is he hath no necessity
Of gold nor of sustenance: 
Slow good hap comes by chance;
Flattery best fares;
Arts are but idle wares: 
Fair words want giving hands,
The Lento[135] begs that hath no lands. 
Fie on thee, thou scurvy knave,
That hast nought, and yet goes brave: 
A prison be thy deathbed,
Or be hang’d all save the head.

SUM.  Back-winter, stand forth.

VER.  Stand forth, stand forth:  hold up your head; speak out.

BACK-WIN.  What should I stand, or whither should I go?

SUM.  Autumn accuses thee of sundry crimes,
Which here thou art to clear or to confess.

BACK-WIN.  With thee or Autumn have I nought to do,
I would you both were hanged, face to face.

SUM.  Is this the reverence that thou ow’st to us?

BACK-WIN.  Why not?  What art thou? shalt thou always live?

AUT.  It is the veriest dog in Christendom.

WIN.  That’s for he barks at such as knave as thou.

BACK-WIN.  Would I could bark the sun out of the sky;
Turn moon and stars to frozen meteors,
And make the ocean a dry land of ice! 
With tempest of my breath turn up high trees,
On mountains heap up second mounts of snow
Which, melted into water, might fall down,
As fell the deluge on the former world! 
I hate the air, the fire, the spring, the year,
And whatsoe’er brings mankind any good. 
O that my looks were lightning to blast fruits! 
Would I with thunder presently might die,
So I might speak in thunder to slay men. 
Earth, if I cannot injure thee enough,
I’ll bite thee with my teeth, I’ll scratch thee thus: 
I’ll beat down the partition with my heels,
That, as a mud-vault, severs hell and thee. 
Spirits, come up! ’tis I that knock for you;
One that envies[136] the world far more than you. 
Come up in millions! millions are too few
To execute the malice I intend.

SUM. O scelus inauditum, O vox damnatorum! 
Not raging Hecuba, whose hollow eyes
Gave suck to fifty sorrows at one time,
That midwife to so many murders was,
Us’d half the execrations that thou dost.

BACK-WIN.  More I will use, if more I may prevail. 
Back-winter comes but seldom forth abroad,
But when he comes, he pincheth to the proof. 
Winter is mild, his son is rough and stern: 
Ovid could well write of my tyranny,
When he was banish’d to the frozen zone.

SUM.  And banish’d be thou from my fertile bounds. 
Winter, imprison him in thy dark cell,
Or with the winds in bellowing caves of brass
Let stern Hippotades[137] lock him up safe,
Ne’er to peep forth, but when thou, faint and weak,
Want’st him to aid thee in thy regiment.