Hail, eldest of the monthly train,
Sire of the winter drear,
December, in whose iron reign
Expires the chequer'd Year.
Hush ail the blust'ring blasts that blow,
And proudly plum'd in silver snow,
Smile gladly on this blest of Days
The livery'd clouds shall on thee wait,
And Phoebus shine in all his state
With more than summer rays.

Tho' jocund June may justly boast
Long days and happy hours,
Tho' August be Pomona's host,
And May be crown'd with flow'rs;
Tell June, his fire and crimson dyes,
By Harriot's blush and Harriot's eyes,
Eclips'd and vanquish'd, fade away:
Tell August, thou canst let him see
A richer, riper fruit than he,
A sweeter flow'r than May