SEV. To wed a queen--an empress--were only loss and shame; One heart for me--Pauline's! One boast--that dearest name! Her love was virgin gold! O ne'er shall baser metal ring From mine, who live her name to bless! her peerless praise to sing! O, words are naught, till that I see her face, Then doubly naught till I my love embrace. In every war my hope was placed in death, Her name upon my lips at every breath: My rank, my fame, now hers and hers alone, What is not hers, hers only--I disown! FABIAN. Once more, oh see her not, 'twere for thy peace! SEV. Thy meaning, knave, or let this babble cease! Say, was she cold? My love! My only life! FABIAN. No--but--my lord---- SEV. Say on! FABIAN. Another's wife! SEV. (Reels.) Help!--No, I will not blench--ah, say you lie! If this be true!--ye gods--can I be I? FABIAN. No, thou art changed. Where is thy courage fled? SEV. I know not, Fabian. Lost! Gone! Vanished! Dead! I thought my strength was oak--'tis but a reed! Pauline is wed, then am I lost indeed! Hope hid beyond the cloud, yet still fond hope was there: But now all hope is dead, lives only black despair! Pauline another's wife? FABIAN. Yes, Polyeucte is her lord. He came, he saw, he conquered thine adored. SEV. Her choice is not unworthy--his a name Illustrious, from a line of kings he came Cold comfort for a wound no cure can heal! My cause is lost,--foredoomed without appeal! Malignant Jove, to drag me back to-day! Relentless Fate, to quench hope's dawning ray! Take back your gifts! One boon alone I crave, That only boon to none denied--the grave. Yet would I see her, breathe one last good-bye, Would hear once more that voice before I die! My latest breath would still my homage pay, That memory mine, when lost to realms of day. FABIAN. Yet think, my lord-- SEV. Oh, I have thought of all; What worser ill can dull despair befall? She will not see me? FABIAN. Yes, my lord, but-- SEV. Cease! FABIAN. 'Twill but enhance the grief I would appease. SEV. For hopeless ill, good friend, I seek no cure. Who welcomes death can life's short pain endure! FABIAN. O lost indeed, if round her fatal light you hover!-- The lover, losing all, speaks hardly like a lover! While passion still is lord--the passion-swept is slave-- From this last bitterness would I Severus save!