Moments and minutes, which, without a crime, Can't be omitted in accounts of time, Or, if omitted, (proof we might afford) Worthy by parliaments to be restored; The hours, which, dress'd by turns in black and white, Ordain'd as handmaids, wait on Day and Night; The day, those hours, I mean, when light presides, And Business in a cart with Prudence rides; The night, those hours, I mean, with darkness hung, When Sense speaks free, and Folly holds her tongue; 360 The morn, when Nature, rousing from her strife With death-like sleep, awakes to second life; The eve, when, as unequal to the task, She mercy from her foe descends to ask; The week, in which six days are kindly given To think of earth, and one to think of heaven; The months, twelve sisters, all of different hue, Though there appears in all a likeness too; Not such a likeness as, through Hayman's[153] works, Dull mannerist! in Christians, Jews, and Turks, 370 Cloys with a sameness in each female face, But a strange something, born of Art and Grace, Which speaks them all, to vary and adorn, At different times of the same parents born; All, one and all, shall in this chorus join, And, dumb to others' praise, be loud in mine. Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! rejoice; Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice, The voice of gladness; and on every tongue, In strains of gratitude, be praises hung, 380 The praises of so great and good a king: Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham sing? Frore January, leader of the year, Minced-pies in van, and calves' heads in the rear; Dull February, in whose leaden reign My mother bore a bard without a brain; March, various, fierce, and wild, with wind-crack'd cheeks, By wilder Welshmen led, and crown'd with leeks; April, with fools, and May, with bastards bless'd; June, with White Roses on her rebel breast; 390 July, to whom, the Dog-star in her train, Saint James[154] gives oysters, and Saint Swithin rain; August[155], who, banish'd from her Smithfield stand, To Chelsea flies, with Doggett in her hand; September, when by custom (right divine) Geese are ordain'd to bleed at Michael's shrine, Whilst the priest, not so full of grace as wit, Falls to, unbless'd, nor gives the saint a bit; October, who the cause of Freedom join'd, And gave a second George[156] to bless mankind; 400 November, who, at once to grace our earth, Saint Andrew boasts, and our Augusta's[157] birth; December, last of months, but best, who gave A Christ to man, a Saviour to the slave, Whilst, falsely grateful, man, at the full feast, To do God honour makes himself a beast; All, one and all, shall in this chorus join, And, dumb to others' praise, be loud in mine. Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites! rejoice; Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice, 410 The voice of gladness; and on every tongue, In strains of gratitude, be praises hung,