on mrs. riddell's birthday

4th november 1793.

old winter, with his frosty beard,

thus once to jove his prayer preferred:

“what have i done of all the year,

to bear this hated doom severe?

my cheerless suns no pleasure know;

night's horrid car drags, dreary slow;

my dismal months no joys are crowning,

but spleeny english hanging, drowning.