University of Virginia Library

THE SNAIL.

I carry as heavy a pack
As ever pedlar bore on his back;
And no matter where I roam,
With me I must take my home:
Walk where I may, go where I will,
My house is ever with me still.
If a day I wish to spend
With some old respected friend,
I must take with me house and all,
No matter upon whom I call.
Neither can I step inside,
Whatever cheer he may provide;
Out of doors we're forced to dine,
For I can't ask him into mine.
No marvel that I travel slow,
When my house with me I draw.
And they would tell a different tale,
Who talk about a slow-paced snail,
And at my movements scoff and jeer,
If they had but their house to bear
Upon their backs, go where they might.
I find it handy though at night
To just draw in my horns and head,
Turn round, and be at once in bed;
Useful too when it does rain,
To pop out and pop in again.
If I travel for a week,
For lodgings I need never seek;
But when I want to take mine ease
Can turn in at what hour I please.
No one sits up to let me in,—
At my door there's no midnight din;
No words between my wife and me
About my having the latch-key;
She with my house has nought to do,
Nor I with hers—a good job too.
All the winter long I sleep,
Nor ever out of doors once peep,
Until I the warm sunshine feel;
Then out my horns I softly steal,
And if it look a likely day,
Begin to move my house away,
And search for something green and sweet;—
For months I have had nought to eat.
Oh, how I do hate a thrush!
For with his beak my house he'll crush,
Smash in both tiles, and roof, and rafter;
And when he's killed me, eat me after.