on rs riddell&039;s birthday
4th noveber 1793
old ter, with his frosty beard,
th once to jove his prayer preferred:
“what have i done of all the year,
to bear this hated doo severe?
y cheerless suns no pleasure know;
night&039;s horrid car drags, dreary slow;
y disal onths no joys are crowng,
but spleeny english hangg, drowng
“now jove, for once be ighty civil
to unterbance all this evil;
give , and i&039;ve no ore to say,
give aria&039;s natal day!
that brilliant gift shall enrich ,
sprg, sur, autun, cannot atch ”
“&039;tis done!” says jove; ends y story,
and ter once rejoiced glory
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