A portly Wood-louse, full of cares,
Transacted eminent affairs
Along a parapet where pears
Unripened fell
And vines embellished the sweet airs
With muscatel.

Day after day beheld him run
His scales a-twinkle in the sun
About his business never done;
Night's slender span he
Spent in the home his wealth had won -
A red-brick cranny.

Thus, as his Sense of Right directed,
He lived both honored and respected,
Cherished his children and protected
His duteous wife,
And naught of diffidence deflected
His useful life.

One mid-day, hastening to his Club,
He spied beside a water-tub
The owner of each plant and shrub
A humble Bard -
Who turned upon the conscious grub
A mild regard.

'Eh?' quoth the Wood-louse, 'Can it be
A Higher Power looks down to see
My praiseworthy activity
And notes me plying
My Daily Task? - Nor strange, dear me,
But gratifying!'

To whom the Bard: I still divest
My orchard of the Insect Pest,
That you are such is manifest,
Prepare to die. -
And yet, how sweetly does your crest
Reflect the sky!

'Go then forgiven, (for what ails
Your naughty life this fact avails
Tu pardon) mirror in your scales
Celestial blue,
Till the sun sets and the light fails
The skies and you.'

May all we proud and bustling parties
Whose lot in forum, street and mart is
Stand in conspectu Deitatis
And save our face,
Reflecting where our scaly heart is
Some skyey grace.