Page:The Life of Benvenuto Cellini Vol 2.djvu/113

Rh  I'll tell thee a great marvel! Friend, give ear! The fancy took me on one day to write: Learn now what shifts one may be put to here.

My cell I search, prick brows and hair upright, Then turn me toward a cranny in the door t And with my teeth a splinter disunite;

Next find a piece of brick upon the floor, Crumble a part thereof to powder small, And form a paste by sprinkling water o'er.

Then, then came Poesy with fiery call Into my carcass, by the way methought Whence bread goes forth—there was none else at all.

Now to return unto my primal thought: Who wills to know what weal awaits him, must First learn the ill that God for him hath wrought.

The jail contains all arts in act and trust; Should you but hanker after surgeon's skill, 'T will draw the spoiled blood from your veins adust.

Next there is something in itself that will Make you right eloquent, a bold brave spark, Big with high-soaring thoughts for good and ill.

Blessed is the man who lies in dungeon dark, Languishing many a month, then takes his flight Of war, truce, peace he knows, and tells the mark.

Needs be that all things turn to his delight; The jail has crammed his brains so full of wit, They'll dance no morris to upset the wight.