The weather, distressing for man and for beast it is,
The sky is o'erclouded, the wind in the East it is;
The streets and the footways detestably muddy are,
Our cheeks are all blue, and our noses all ruddy are:
We've coughs, and we've colds, and we've pains most rheumatical,
Our temper is short, and our language emphatical!
There's nothing but hopeless, dull, gloomy austerity—
Now May has set in with its usual severity!
The mornings are dark, and the nights demoniacal,
We're dismal, depressed, and we're hypochondriacal!