What’s the matter?

What’s the matter?  That you have such a February face?  So full of frost, of storm, of cloudiness.

 

 

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You Common Men

Look, as I blow this feather from my face,
and as the air blows it to me again,
obeying with my wind when I do blow,
and yielding to another when it blows,
commanded always by the greater gust:
such is the lightness of you common men.