In which the Italian Prince considers whether to ally with France against Turkey, or with Turkey against France.
It is a fretful question, loyalty.
A bitter insult, grave and ichor-born
To ask it of another man: "Where Be?"
To ask it is to ask for grave return
For perfidy announced doth earn reply.
But graver still, and by it Hades join'd
To ask it of ones self: "Where lieth me?"
And so see in within one's beating breast
His own dark future, unbeknown to Man.
Bedriven every man by two base Claims
Upon his mortal heart within his case:
The first, by Adam, is to take a wife
And second, that by Cain, to bringeth strife.
Unmanly, therefore, fear creeps in about
The corners of the countenance and kine
Of Kings and Princes on this Inland Sea:
The fear of French and Ottoman betwine.
Which turn! O Heart! O shaking heart un-stead
Upon the Firmament or briny deep?
For hearts, like seasons do they turn ahead
Upon the Globe's unfathomable sweep.
Our Italy is tossed by Valor's wave.
Some war, some bitter war this way approach!
The brightened horde of Turks to Orient,
The mercy of the Frankish King, to Ochs.
And now we, by our Lombard beards, chuse up
Our side: Turkey, woulds't our Italy betide.
Woulds't the Sultanate take hand with ours
On Valor-fields in Europe's fateful hour?
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