Of those who're alien to me!
That you have loved me not—or love me less
Than once you did, too well I came to know—
I—with the blood in me of the Medici!—
And now it is open prate!... But do you think
The women of my city want resentment,
Or less than these sun-lusting ones of Naples
Know how to cool their wrath?
Osio.
I think you mad—