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 Ascribe no less the praise - Beneficent, believe me, His eccentricities.
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