I built it huge and true in every line,
Studied anatomy to make it strong,
And set on top Francesco with his sword;
But, when the time for casting had arrived
And I had done one perfect work at last,
The hungry French across the border came,
Bringing their Gascons, who got drunk and shot
The clay of my poor Titan into space.
So were ten years of strenuous effort lost;
And now I'm painting Mona Lisa's face . . .