’Tis but for a season.
We keep the paces of the gods, and all
Our actions are as theirs irrelevant
Beside ourselves, as we conceive ourselves.
Lucrezia, do but feel how thick my hair
Is brushing up beside the little tonsure!
There springs the Cesar. You have seen me amble
Beside Giovanni’s stallion on my mule....
And I am tempered through and through for war.
While others all day long were waging battle,
I have gone out to chase—oh, think of it!—
That I might follow some mean animal,
And catch the sound of Mars across the lake.
... Your fingers press me ...
Why is their touch less soft?
LUCREZIA.
You so desired
What now you have.
CESARE.
Giovanni....
LUCREZIA.
Yes? [She waits but he says nothing.
Poor Giovanni! We have enemies.
CESARE.
We have. I silence yours. Are you all tears?