Snails

In grass, or leaf in fruit or wall,

The snail sticks fast, no fear to fall,

As if they grow there and live,

Enjoying their lives, sleeps better.

Within those houses they used to hide,

When danger eminent betides,

Or storms, or other harms beside, of

weathers.

Given but his korn the slightest touch,

His self collecting power is such,

He shsinks into his house with much

displeasure.

Where he dwells, he dwells alone,

Except himself has chattel none,

Well satisfied to be his own whole

treasure.

This hermt like, his life heleads,

Nor partner of his bnguet needs,

And if he meets one, only feeds the paster.

Who seeks him must be worse that blind,

He and his house are so combined,

If, finding it, he fails to find.