For you
I have done harder things than conquer death.
[They are silent.
What are the great eyes dreaming of?
CESARE.
The heat,
And something dreadful in it—of the places,
Corneto, Piombino, yet ungirdled
By one domain.
[Rising impetuously.] Oh, to desert the French!
Although I march
As of their army, at their first reverse
We close the northern passages.
ALEXANDER.
Ha, ha, ha! ha!
A trap for Louis....
—Cardinal Michele
Was suddenly distempered by this ill,
Dying as swiftly as if venom wrought:
So fatal is the weather to stout frames!
Son, I incline to fat.... I would I owned
Your thin and agile limbs.
CESARE.
I would that half the years
Of my short life—for, like Achilles’, short
My life will be, if glorious—I might give
To build yours over four score years and ten!