You don't need a weatherman

Re-reading King Lear recently, I was struck by these famous lines from the 'blasted heath' scene. As so often with Shakespeare, they seem to have a prophetic bent.

Poor naked wretches,

whereso'er you are,

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,

Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you

From seasons such as these?

O! I have ta'en
Too little care of this.