MICHELOTTO.
Messer Ambassador, if thus you worship,
Let Florence strike alliance with my lord:
Your fruitless praise but brings his brow down, shapes
His lips unkindly when the name of Florence
Or that of Messer Niccolo drifts by.
MACCHIAVELLI.
I have written and will write
To Florence and her Gonfalonier.
MICHELOTTO.
Basta!
Always what you will do, and Florence always
A paralytic!
Messer Macchiavelli,
Your face, while I related, took my eyes,
As you had been a fiery gallant, hearing
His love’s deliverance vouched. Will a cold hanging-off
Bring any man to his desire? Satana!
I think your whole of statecraft is the rack;
Your smile puts to the question ... bah, my fingers,
My toes knot under it!
MACCHIAVELLI.
Then leave me, friend,
And knot your rope for Vitellozzo fast,
Fast for Oliveretto.
MICHELOTTO.
[Turning toward the archway.] Nay—behold!