The seasons change their manners, as the year Had found some months asleep and leapt them over.
. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind.
Two women placed together makes cold weather.
Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.
Many can brook (endure) the weather that love not the wind