Luther to a Blue-Bottle Fly

Ay, buzz and buzz away. Dost thou suppose

I know not who thou art, who all to-day

Hast vexed and plagued me, as I write and pray,

And dared to settle on my very nose?

Thou thinkest thou canst trip me while I doze?

Each time I snatch at thee thou slipp'st away;

But wait till my next sermon: I will lay

Thee in the dust, thou Father of all Foes.

Ay, buzz about my Bible. But I wot,

Unless thou wish to shrivel, thou'lt not dare

To settle on the page, thou live blue blot!

Out, Beelzebub, or thou wilt make me swear.

Buzz back to Hell: old Martin fears thee not,

Thou god of Flies, though thou shouldst fill the air!