Nothing at these times but his head was seen; The coverlet came close beneath his chin; And then, from out the bottle or tureen, They fill’d a silver pipe, which he let in Between his lips, all easy, smooth, and clean, And so he filled his philosophic skin. And not a finger all the while he stirred, Nor, lest his tongue should tire, scarce uttered word. The name of that same cook was Master Pierre; He told a tale well--something short and light. Quoth scribe, “Those people who keep dancing there Have little wit.” Quoth Pierre, “You’re very right.” And then he told a tale, or hummed an air; Then took a sip of something, or a bite; And then he turned himself to sleep; and then Awoke and ate. And then he slept again. One more thing I may note that made the day Pass well--one custom, not a little healing, Which was, to look above him, as he lay. And count the spots and blotches in the ceiling; Noting what shapes they took to, and which way, And where the plaster threatened to be peeling; Whether the spot looked new, or old, or what-- Or whether ’twas, in fact, a spot or not. --From _Roland Enamored_. Francho Sacchetti, poet and novelist, wrote many stories and verses in lighter vein. _ON A WET DAY_ As I walk’d thinking through a little grove, Some girls that gather’d flowers came passing me, Saying--“Look here! look there!” delightedly. “O here it is!” “What’s that?” “A lily? love!” “And there are violets!” “Farther for roses! O the lovely pets! The darling beauties! O the nasty thorn! Look here, my hand’s all torn!” “What’s that that jumps?” “O don’t! it’s a grasshopper!” “Come, run! come, run! Here’s blue-bells!” “O what fun!” “Not that way! stop her!” “Yes! this way!” “Pluck them then!” “O, I’ve found mushrooms! O look here!” “O, I’m Quite sure that farther on we’ll get wild thyme.” “O, we shall stay too long; it’s going to rain; There’s lightning; O! there’s thunder!” “O sha’n’t we hear the vesper bell? I wonder.” “Why, it’s not nones, you silly little thing! And don’t you hear the nightingales that sing-- Fly away O die away?” “O, I hear something; hush!” “Why, where? what is it then?” “Ah! in that bush.” So every girl here knocks it, shakes and shocks it: Till with the stir they make Out skurries a great snake. “O Lord! O me! Alack! Ah me! alack!” They scream, and then all run and scream again, And then in heavy drops comes down the rain.