The Raveness running with the bull

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I’ve been running with the bull since I was much younger, with ten years of hunger for a Borgia.
One can only say I blame Cesare, the nobleman, politician and cardinal.
Raw sex and papal poison, it doesn’t bother me at all if he is the illegitimate son.
I’d have bed him like a courtesan, although I’m afraid little sister Lucrezia would be gone.
I’d have supported his capture of Urbino and Camerino by treason or followed him into conquer Bologna if Condottieri didn’t fear a plot against him.
I’d have grabbed the man by the horns and steered him away from the patronage of his father’s concerns which made him slightly lame, but of course I dare to dream, I am no assassin dame!
He was on the contrary a colossal statesman, such a pity and a shame.
O’ well too bad he fell after being caught alone, trapped in ambush and unveiled was his face partially masked scarred from syphilis and his body speared.
It was good night to the prince stripped of his riches and laid naked with nothing but a tile codpiece covering his genitals, but although though dead, for five hundred years still in spirit he woos the girls.

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