SEV. A glory that shall triumph over pain; 'Tis hers, and, by the Gods, it shall be mine! Nor God nor fiend can sully such a shrine! FABIAN. Speak low, for Jove has bolts, and Hell has ears! The dangers of this course arouse my fears. What? Decius implore a Nazarene to save! 'Tis death that hath thy heart; thou woo'st a grave. His rage against the sect thou knowest well, His power unbridled--his revenge is fell. To plead for Christians is a task too great, For man or God: thou rushest on thy fate. SEV. Yes, such advice, I know, is much approved, Yet not thus can Severus' soul be moved. To Fate unequal--equal to myself-- In duty's path I go. For power and pelf I never swerve where honour leads the way; Come weal, come woe, her call I must obey. Let fate depress an all unequal scale, Let Clothe hold her distaff--I'll not fail! Yet one more word--this to thy private ear-- The fables that thou dost of Christians hear Are fables only, coined, I know not why, Distorted are they seen in Decius' eye. They practice the black art,--so all men say. I sought to learn the laws that they obey, And to discover what the secret guilt The which to expiate their blood is spilt. Yet priests of Cybele dark rites pursue At Rome--untrammelled--this is nothing new: To thousand gods men build, unchecked, their fanes, The Christians' God alone our state disdains. Each foul Egyptian beast his temple rears, Caligula a god to Roman ears-- Tiberius is enshrined--a Nero deified-- To Christ--to Christ alone--a temple is denied! Such metamorphoses confuse the mind As gods in cats, and saints in fiends we find; As Ruler absolute Jehovah stands, Alone o'er heaven and earth and hell commands, While pagan gods each 'gainst the other strive, And ne'er one queen is found o'er all the hive, Now--(strike me dead, Jove's tarrying thunderbolt!) So many masters must provoke revolt. And ah! where Christians live--there life is pure, Vice dies untended, virtues all endure. We give these men to rack, and cord, and flame, While they forgive us--in their Pardoner's name. They no sedition raise, they ne'er rebel, Rome makes them soldiers, and they serve her well. They rage in battle, faithful ward they keep, They fight like lions, but they die like sheep. They serve the State: Rome's servant must defend Those who to might of Rome such succour lend. Pauline, I will obey, whate'er befall; The man who loseth honour loseth all. ACT V--FELIX. ALBIN. CLEON FELIX. Caught in Severus' net thy Felix see! He hates and holds me--oh, the misery! ALBIN. I see a generous man, who cries, 'Forgive, Let Pauline smile once more--let Polyeucte live!'