To the King on his Navy

Edmund Waller

Where’er thy navy spreads her canvas wings,

Homage to thee, and peace to all, she brings:

The French and Spaniard, when thy flags appear,

Forget their hatred, and consent to fear.

So Jove from Ida did both hosts survey,

And when he pleas’d to thunder, part the fray.

Ships heretofore in seas like fishes sped,

The mightiest still upon the smallest fed:

Thou on the deep imposest nobler laws,

And by that justice hast remov’d the cause

Of those rude tempests, which, for rapine sent,

Too oft, alas, involv’d the innocent.

Now shall the ocean, as thy Thames, be free

From both those fates, of storms and piracy.

But we most happy, who can fear no force

But winged troops, or Pegasean horse:

’Tis not so hard for greedy foes to spoil

Another nation, as to touch our soil.

Should Nature’s self invade the world again,

And o’er the centre spread the liquid main,

Thy power were safe; and her destructive hand

Would but enlarge the bounds of thy command:

Thy dreadful fleet would style thee lord of all,

And ride in triumph o’er the drowned ball:

Those towers of oak o’er fertile plains might go,

And visit mountains, where they once did grow.

The world’s restorer once could not endure,

That finish’d Babel should those men secure,

Whose pride design’d that fabric to have stood

Above the reach of any second flood:

To thee His chosen, more indulgent, He

Dares trust such power with so much piety.

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Snails by Francis Ponge

Unlike the ashes that make their home with hot coals, snails prefer moist earth. Go on: they advance while gluing themselves to it with their entire bodies. They carry it, they eat it, they shit it. They go through it, it goes through them. It’s the best kind of interpenetration, as between tones, one passive and one active. The passive bathes and nourishes the active, which overturns the other while it eats.

(There is more to be said about snails. First of all their immaculate clamminess. Their sangfroid. Their stretchiness.)

One can scarcely conceive of a snail outside its shell and unmoving. The moment it rests it sinks down deep into itself. In fact, its modesty obliges it to move as soon as it has shown its nakedness and  revealed its vulnerable shape. The moment it’s exposed, it moves on.

During periods of dryness they withdraw into ditches where it seems their bodies are enough to maintain their dampness. No doubt their neighbors there are toads and frogs and other ectothermic animals. But when they come out again they don’t move as quickly. You have to admire their willingness to go into the ditch, given how hard it is for them to come out again.

Note also that though snails like moist soil, they have no affection for places that are too wet such as marshes or ponds. Most assuredly they prefer firm earth, as long as it’s fertile and damp.

They are fond as well of moisture-rich vegetables and green leafy plants. They know how to feed on them leaving only the veins, cutting free the most tender leaves. They are hell on salads.

What are these beings from the depths of the ditches? Though snails love many of their trenches’ qualities they have every intention of leaving. They are in their element but they are also wanderers. And when they emerge into the daylight onto firm ground their shells will preserve their vagabond’s hauteur.

It must be a pain to have to haul that trailer around with them everywhere, but they never complain and in the end they are happy about it. How valuable, after all, to be able to go home any time, no matter where you may find yourself, eluding all intruders. It must be worth it.