Ah!
CESARE.
I shall be slow in this:
You must not press my schemes.
Then I shall muster
Another army, fresh and of my land,
My own Romagnole shepherds from their fells.
These people of the slopes of Apennine
Sing me and weave my rule into their thews—
My Dragon’s teeth, my arms of Italy!
ALEXANDER.
And these Romagnole shepherds are my flock;
A spiritual army and a power
To keep you safe.
This combat pleases me;
A conflict in the air—wit against craft!
[Cesare has sunk down again by his father’s knee, his eyes lost in dream. Alexander draws his face backward and gazes at him: Cesare smiles languidly.
CESARE.
I have learnt all the Romans and the Grecians
Have taught of armies, of a prince’s justice.
Both France and Spain will seek my armaments
To join my powers with theirs.
[Raising himself.] In this campaign
[Still kneeling, he fixes the Pope with his eyes.
You have your own campaign to wage in peace,
Campaign of death. When I shall give you warning,
Seize the Orsini left in Rome, imprison
Lord Giambattista in the Borgia Tower;
His coffers and proprietorships embrace
Armies and succours.
That great pearl is his,
The cardinal, benign, soft pearl.