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13

THE SNAIL.

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks fast, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house or all
together.
Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides,
of weather.
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much
displeasure.
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
whole treasure.
Thus Hermit like his life he leads
Alone, on simple viands feeds,
Nor at his humble banquet needs
attendant.
And tho' without society,
He finds 'tis pleasant to be free,
And that he's blest who need not be
dependant.