AUT. On such conditions no crown will I take. I challenge Winter for my enemy; A most insatiate, miserable carl, That to fill up his garners to the brim Cares not how he endamageth the earth, What poverty he makes it to endure! He overbars the crystal streams with ice, That none but he and his may drink of them: All for a foul Backwinter he lays up. Hard craggy ways, and uncouth slippery paths He frames, that passengers may slide and fall. Who quaketh not, that heareth but his name? O, but two sons he hath worse than himself: Christmas the one, a pinchback, cutthroat churl, That keeps no open house, as he should do, Delighteth in no game or fellowship, Loves no good deeds, and hateth talk; But sitteth in a corner turning crabs, Or coughing o'er a warmed pot of ale. Backwinter th'other, that's his nown[123] sweet boy, Who like his father taketh in all points. An elf it is, compact of envious pride, A miscreant born for a plague to men; A monster that devoureth all he meets. Were but his father dead, so he would reign, Yea, he would go good-near to deal by him As Nebuchadnezzar's ungracious son, Foul Merodach[124], by his father dealt: Who when his sire was turned to an ox Full greedily snatch'd up his sovereignty, And thought himself a king without control. So it fell out, seven years expir'd and gone, Nebuchadnezzar came to his shape again, And dispossess'd him of the regiment;[125] Which my young prince, no little grieving at, When that his father shortly after died, Fearing lest he should come from death again, As he came from an ox to be a man, Will'd that his body, 'spoiled of coverture, Should be cast forth into the open fields, For birds and ravens to devour at will; Thinking, if they bare, every one of them, A bill-ful of his flesh into their nests, He could not rise to trouble him in haste. WILL SUM. A virtuous son! and I'll lay my life on't he was a cavalier and a good fellow.[126] WIN. Pleaseth your honour, all he says is false. For my own part, I love good husbandry, But hate dishonourable covetise. Youth ne'er aspires to virtue's perfect growth, Till the wild oats be sown; and so the earth, Until his weeds be rotted by my frosts Is not for any seed or tillage fit. He must be purged that hath surfeited: The fields have surfeited with summer fruits; They must be purg'd, made poor, oppress'd with snow, Ere they recover their decayed pride. For overbarring of the streams with ice, Who locks not poison from his children's taste? When Winter reigns, the water is so cold, That it is poison, present death, to those That wash or bathe their limbs in his cold streams. The slipp'rier that ways are under us, The better it makes us to heed our steps, And look, ere we presume too rashly on. If that my sons have misbehav'd themselves, A God's name, let them answer't 'fore my lord. AUT. Now, I beseech your honour it may be so. SUM. With all my heart. Vertumnus, go for them.