MICHAEL ANGELO. 
I see it as it should be.

BENVENUTO. 
                         As it will be
When it is placed upon the Ducal Square,
Half-way between your David and the Judith
Of Donatello.

MICHAEL ANGELO. 
              Rival of them both!

BENVENUTO. 
But ah, what infinite trouble have I had
With Bandinello, and that stupid beast,
The major-domo of Duke Cosimo,
Francesco Ricci, and their wretched agent
Gorini, who came crawling round about me
Like a black spider, with his whining voice
That sounded like the buzz of a mosquito! 
Oh, I have wept in utter desperation,
And wished a thousand times I had not left
My Tour do Nesle, nor e’er returned to Florence,
Or thought of Perseus.  What malignant falsehoods
They told the Grand Duke, to impede my work,
And make me desperate!

MICHAEL ANGELO. 
                     The nimble lie
Is like the second-hand upon a clock;
We see it fly; while the hour-hand of truth
Seems to stand still, and yet it moves unseen,
And wins at last, for the clock will not strike
Till it has reached the goal.

BENVENUTO. 
                           My obstinacy
Stood me in stead, and helped me to o’ercome
The hindrances that envy and ill-will
Put in my way.

MICHAEL ANGELO. 
               When anything is done
People see not the patient doing of it,
Nor think how great would be the loss to man
If it had not been done.  As in a building
Stone rests on stone, and wanting the foundation
All would be wanting, so in human life
Each action rests on the foregone event,
That made it possible, but is forgotten
And buried in the earth.

BENVENUTO. 
                     Even Bandinello,
Who never yet spake well of anything,
Speaks well of this; and yet he told the Duke
That, though I cast small figures well enough,
I never could cast this.

MICHAEL ANGELO. 
                   But you have done it,
And proved Ser Bandinello a false prophet. 
That is the wisest way.

BENVENUTO. 
                   And ah, that casting
What a wild scene it was, as late at night,
A night of wind and rain, we heaped the furnace
With pine of Serristori, till the flames
Caught in the rafters over us, and threatened
To send the burning roof upon our heads;
And from the garden side the wind and rain
Poured in upon us, and half quenched our fires. 
I was beside myself with desperation. 
A shudder came upon me, then a fever;
I thought that I was dying, and was forced
To leave the work-shop, and to throw myself
Upon my bed, as one who has no hope. 
And as I lay there, a deformed old man
Appeared before me, and with dismal voice,
Like one who doth exhort a criminal
Led forth to death, exclaimed, “Poor Benvenuto,