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-