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Beloved and Cesar, you have been our poet;

From you our valid agency, from you

The teeming of the parable.

You notice

The azure guard? It pleases you?

As spring’s

Sky-blue. Lord Bonafede, you that savour

The taste of steel, run with your finger down

These grooves: now see the contour and the curves,

The equilibrium, so beautiful

I worship it with reverence. Now bend

Above the glass, like adamant, and trace

My hero in his deeds.

Here is a mighty deed,

And one that was of doom. This floating ensign,

These naked horsemen at the riverside,

The child, with wreath of laurel, by the flood

Playing his flute to outset of a life....

For this is Cesar crossing Rubicon.

Here are his very words: “The die is cast.” ...

Enter Monsignore Gaspare Poto.

Your Worship,

His Holiness requires you instantly;

For he is gnawed by deep inquietude.

The Duke your brother has been missed two nights,

Has disappeared without a trace....

What, lost?