Old Winter, With His Frosty Beard, Thus Once To Jove His Prayer Preferr'D, 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. Now, Jove, For Once Be Mighty Civil, To Counterbalance All This Evil; Give Me, And I've No More To Say, Give Me Maria'S Natal Day! That Brilliant Gift Shall So Enrich Me, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Cannot Match Me; 'Tis Done! Says Jove; So Ends My Story, And Winter Once Rejoiced In Glory.