Cesare watches, fascinated - no: charmed, delighted - as the other starts rocking his chair like a school-boy.
"Mh." He toys with his cup. "Such was the uniform and informed opinion. Too much of a Republican, if you ask me. And what good has ever come from Florence?" Cesare shrugs, the continues, friendlier, "But his poetry was quite lovely, it's true."
"Del mese di genaio, e non di maggio," he starts to declaim, voice going soft,
"In the month of January, and not in May, it was, when I took Love to be my lord and placed myself completely in his power, and swore homage to him."