Ask a plethoric black beetle
Why it walks into the cream!
Why the jolly gnats find pleasaunce
In your drowsy orbs of sight,—
Why besotted daddy long-legs
Hum into the nearest light,—
'Tis his creed, "non mi ricordo,"
And he wanders in a fog;
As that other peel, her—
Baceous, wanders in your glass of grog;—