Enter through the arch Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna, on his white horse, in silver armour, crimsoned, like the snow, with sundown.
MACCHIAVELLI.
Congratulations, Excellence! Believe me,
You have the brightest face in all the world.
CESARE.
Come close!
Your Florence, Messer Niccolo, has reason
To love me: all her petty enemies
Are in this hand for swallowing. Have I not
Betokened what I feed on, by my blazon—
A snake that gorges reptiles? Ha, the meal!
Do you remember
The ogres in our nurses’ tales laughed out
Before they gulped?... To-night, to-night a supper
Of creeping tyrants!
MACCHIAVELLI.
CESARE.
Hoo! My appetite!
Let Florence eat with me!
[Closing his eyes and laughing.] It was a game,
The catching of these imps!
Truth, Messer Niccolo,
I am a boy again!
Ho-heigh! There will be music,
Romagnole pipes ... I love that rocky hills
And streams should be in music....
Michelotto,
Those rascal French are pillaging—see, there!
Go, hang a dozen, swing them high!
My citizens of Sinigaglia shall not
Be plucked by crows—up with a dozen, high!
[Exit Michelotto.