Twere better to be born a stone Of ruder shape, and feeling none, Than with a tenderness like mine And sensibilities so fine! Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell Forever in my native shell, Ordained to move when others please, Not for my own content or ease; But toss'd and buffeted about, Now in the water and now out.
William Cowper, William Hayley, John William Cunningham (1854). “The Works of William Cowper: His Life, Letters, and Poems ; Now First Completed by the Introduction of Cowper's Private Correspondence”, p.617
