To Giovanni Da Pistoja.On The Painting Of The Sistine Chapel.

I' ho gi fatto un gozzo.     I've grown a goitre by dwelling in this den--             As cats from stagnant streams in Lombardy,             Or in what other land they hap to be--             Which drives the belly close beneath the chin:     My beard turns up to heaven; my nape falls in,             Fixed on my spine: my breast-bone visibly             Grows like a harp: a rich embroidery             Bedews my face from brush-drops thick and thin.     My loins into my paunch like levers grind:             My buttock like a crupper bears my weight;             My feet unguided wander to and fro;     In front my skin grows loose and long; behind,             By bending it becomes more taut and strait;             Crosswise I strain me like a Syrian bow:                     Whence false and quaint, I know,             Must be the fruit of squinting brain and eye;             For ill can aim the gun that bends awry.                     Come then, Giovanni, try             To succour my dead pictures and my fame;             Since foul I fare and painting is my shame.