Plenty from lib'ral horn shall strow the year:
When the dark skies dissolve in snow and rain,
The lab'ring kind shall yoke the steer in vain;
But if the threat'ning winds in tempest roar,
Then war shall bathe her wasteful sword in gore.
How if, on Swithen's feast the welkin lours,
And ev'ry penthouse streams with hasty show'rs,
Twice twenty days shall clouds their fleeces drain,
And wash the pavements with incessant rain:
Let no such vulgar tales debase thy mind,