We are his people: we are Italy.
He consecrates us too; he loves the valleys
Where we rear up our lambs and sing our loves.
[They all gather round as if longing for some outbreak of their enthusiasm.
What shall we do? Beat on our castanets,
Fall on our knees, bring tribute?... But our prince
Has infinite treasure.
CESARE.
You shall keep my castles.
You are my garrisons; while you defend them
I shall rest quiet, all Romagna mine. [Rising.
THE FLUTE-BOY.
You will not go from us?
CESARE.
First, I command a song.
[He sits down again, expectant. The Boy sobs; then, fixing his eyes on the Duke, pauses, and after a few moments sings out shrilly.