, and the , tho' kin to these,
Are not so constant to their native Seas.
Sometimes th' Amphibious Race the Floods disown,
Nor are the Guests to neighb'ring Shores unknown.
The Shelly Crawlers each returning Year,
Cast off their Coat, and new-made Armour wear.
Self-taught, when first the  perceive
Their loos'ning Shell will soon the Body leave,
They cram their Paunch, and bloated strive to thrust
From off their rising Back the tott'ring Crust.
But when their naked Bodies lie expos'd,
No longer with the shelly Fence enclos'd;
They senseless seem, stretcht on the sandy Bed
All pensive lie, and deem themselves as dead;
Nor cautious eat, left gorging Food should swell
The tender Flesh, and stop the growing Shell.
But when slow Nature moulds the viscous Mass,
And Time begins to fix the hard'ning Case,
The rising Crust half-form'd they joyous feel,
And suck the Sands; yet dread the hearty Meal;
Till the firm finisht Work can safe endure
The rudest Shock, and ev'ry Part secure.