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- The Duke of Gandia - 6/6 -


CAESAR

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.

ALEXANDER

Son, Art thou my son?

CAESAR

Whom should thy radiant Rose Have found so fit to ingraff with, and bring forth So strong a scion as I am?

ALEXANDER

By my faith - Wherein, I know not--by my soul, if that Be--I believe it. God forgot his doom When he thou hast slain drew breath before thee

CAESAR

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.

ALEXANDER

Ay? The Dove?

CAESAR

What dove, though lovelier than the swan that lured Leda to love of God on earth, might match Lucrezia?

ALEXANDER

None. Thou art subtle of soul and strong. I would thou hadst spared him--couldst have spared him.

CAESAR

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.

ALEXANDER

Not for the dove's sake?

CAESAR

Not for hate or love. Death was the lot God bade him draw, if God Be more than what we make him.

ALEXANDER

Bread and wine Could hardly turn so bitter. Canst thou sleep?

CAESAR

Dost thou not? Flesh must sleep to live. Am I No son of thine?

ALEXANDER

I would I saw thine end, And mine: and yet I would not.

CAESAR

Sire, good night. [Exeunt


The Duke of Gandia - 6/6

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