Now , mother , though thou love my brother more , Am I not more thy son than he ? Have I more Spaniard in me — less of thee ? Did our Most Holiest father thrill thy womb With more Italian passion than brought forth Me ? I doubt it not . But I , Mother , am not mine elder . He desires And he enjoys the life God gives him — God , The Pope our father , and thy sacred self , Mother beloved and hallowed . I desire More . Ay ; my father 's eminence Set so the stamp on mine . I will not die Cardinal . Ay , fair mother — ay . Thou hast loved my father likewise . Dost thou love Giulia — the sweet Farnese — called the Fair In all the Roman streets that call thee Rose ? And that bright babe Giovanni , whom our sire , Thy holy lord and hers , hath stamped at birth As duke of Nepi ? And fill thee full , Sweet sinless mother . Fear it not . Thou hast Children more loved of him and thee than me - Our bright Francesco , born to smile and sway , And her whose face makes pale the sun in heaven , Whose eyes outlaugh the splendour of the sea , Whose hair has all noon 's wonders in its weft , Whose mouth is God 's and Italy 's one rose , Lucrezia . God alone Knows . Was not God — the God of love , who bade His son be man because he hated man , And saw him scourged and hanging , and at last Forgave the sin wherewith he had stamped us , seeing So fair a full atonement — was not God Bridesman when Christ 's crowned vicar took to bride My mother ? There too my sire had found thee . Priests Make way where warriors dare not — save when war Sets wide the floodgates of the weirs of hell . And what hast thou to do with sin ? Hath he Whose sin was thine not given thee there and then God 's actual absolution ? Mary lived God 's virgin , and God 's mother : mine art thou , Who am Christlike even as thou art virginal . And if thou love me or love me not God knows , And God , who made me and my sire and thee , May take the charge upon him . I am I . Somewhat I think to do before my day Pass from me . Did I love thee not at all , I would not bid thee know it . Alas , my mother , sounds no sense for men - Rings but reverberate folly , whence resounds Returning laughter . Weep or smile on me , Thy sunshine or thy rainbow softens not The mortal earth wherein thou hast clad me . Nay , But rather would I see thee smile than weep , Mother . Thou art lovelier , smiling . I ? God 's vicar 's child ? Whither ? Am not I Hinge of the gate that opens heaven — that bids God open when my sire thrusts in the key - Cardinal ? Canst thou dream I had rather be Duke ? Knowest thou none Lovelier ? Nay , no whit . Our heavenly father on earth adores no less Our mother than our sister : and I hold His heart and eye , his spirit and his sense , Infallible . Most holiest father , I desire Paternal absolution — when thy laugh Has waned from lip and eyelid . Forbid it , God ! The God that set thee where thou art , and there Sustains thee , bids the love he kindles bind Brother to brother . Friends ? Our father on earth , thy will be done . Not I . Hast thou fallen out with me , then , that thy tongue Disclaims its lingering utterance ? Hate or love , Francesco ? I believe Thou dost not hate or love or envy me ; Even as I know , and knowing believe , we all - Our father , thou and I — triune in heart - Hold loveliest of all living things to love This . Sister , I sinned — sin must be mine . A word Fell out askance between us , and she wept Because our father chid us . Nay : there lurks no God in me . And thou , Father , dost thou fear ? Wisdom lives in thee , And cries not out along the streets as when None of God 's folk that heard regarded her , As all that hear thy word regard — or die , Being not outside God 's eyeshot . Dost thou sleep Here in his special keeping — here — to-night , Brother ? They say These holy streets of heaven 's most holiest choice Lie dangerous now in darkness if a man Walk not on holiest errands . Thou , they say , Wert scarce a Christlike sacrifice if slain . Too many dead flow down the Tiber 's flow Nightly . They say it . Ah , my lord and brother , didst thou now , Were this not thankless ? God — our father 's God - Guide thee ! Thou wilt not bid me this , I think , again , Father . Enter MICHELOTTO Thou art swift of speed at need . I bade thee Abide my bidding . Thou knewest it ? I do not ask thee where my brother sleeps . And where to-morrow sees him yet asleep - Nay - Not I but Rome shall ask it . Pass in peace . The benediction of my sire be thine . Thou hast said it . Some while yet . ‘ Tis pity there should be — for thy sake — none . Why ? And Christendom 's to boot . And then myself ? Thou art crazed , but I Sane . They say , Thine . Nor thou nor I Know . Most holiest father , no . Thy brain is not so sick yet . Thou and God Friends ? Man , how long would God have let thee live - Thee ? The firstfruits of thy fatherhood Were something less than Satan . Man of God , Vaunt not thyself . Thou shalt do better , dying in Peter 's chair : Thou shalt die famous . Hast thou heard that prayers are heard ? Or hast thou known earth , for a man 's cry 's sake , Cleave , and devour him ? Wilt thou sleep the worse for this next year ? Thou hast lived thy seven days ’ space in hell , Father : they say thou hast fasted even from sleep . What they say and what thou sayest I hold False . Though thou hast wept as woman , howled as wolf , Above our dead , thou art hale and whole . And now Behoves thee rise again as Christ our God , Vicarious Christ , and cast as flesh away This grief from off thy godhead . I and thou , One , will set hand as never God hath set To the empire and the steerage of the world . Do thou forget but him who is dead , and was Nought , and bethink thee what a world to wield The eternal God hath given into thine hands Which daily mould him out of bread , and give His kneaded flesh to feed on . Thou and I Will make this rent and ruinous Italy One . Ours it shall be , body and soul , and great Above all power and glory given of God To them that died to set thee where thou art - Throned on the dust of Caesar and of Christ , Imperial . Earth shall quail again , and rise Again the higher because she trembled . Rome So bade it be : it was , and shall be . Whom should thy radiant Rose Have found so fit to ingraff with , and bring forth So strong a scion as I am ? God Must needs forget — if God remember . Now This thing thou hast loved , and I that swept him hence Held never fit for hate of mine , is dead , Wilt thou be one with me — one God ? No less , Lord Christ of Rome , thou wilt be . What dove , though lovelier than the swan that lured Leda to love of God on earth , might match Lucrezia ? Sire , I would so too . Our sire , his sire and mine , I slew not him for lust of slaying , or hate , Or aught less like thy wiser spirit and mine . Not for hate or love . Death was the lot God bade him draw , if God Be more than what we make him . Dost thou not ? Flesh must sleep to live . Am I No son of thine ? Sire , good night .