The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings—

The Bat is dun, with wrinkled Wings — Like fallow Article — And not a song pervade his Lips — Or none perceptible.

His small Umbrella quaintly halved Describing in the Air An Arc alike inscrutable Elate Philosopher.

Deputed from what Firmament — Of what Astute Abode — Empowered with what Malignity Auspiciously withheld —

To his adroit Creator Acribe no less the praise — Beneficent, believe me, His Eccentricities —