_S. Cath._ The will of heaven, judged by a private breast, Is often what's our private interest; And therefore those, who would that will obey, Without their interest must their duty weigh. As for myself, I do not life despise, But as the greatest gift of nature prize. My sex is weak, my fears of death are strong, And whate'er is, its being would prolong. Were there no sting in death, for me to die, Would not be conquest, but stupidity; But if vain honour can confirm the soul, And sense of shame the fear of death controul; How much more then should faith uphold the mind, Which, showing death, shows future life behind? _Ber._ Of death's contempt heroic proofs you give; But, madam, let my weaker virtue live. Your faith may bid you your own life resign; But not when yours must be involved with mine. Since then you do not think me fit to die, Ah, how can you that life I beg deny! _S. Cath._ Heaven does in this my greatest trial make, When I, for it, the care of you forsake; But I am placed, as on a theatre, Where all my acts to all mankind appear, To imitate my constancy or fear: Then, madam, judge what course I should pursue, When I must either heaven forsake, or you. _Por._ Were saving Berenice's life a sin, Heaven had shut up your flight from Maximin. _S. Cath._ Thus with short plummets heaven's deep will we sound, That vast abyss where human wit is drowned! In our small skiff we must not launch too far; We here but coasters, not discoverers, are. Faith's necessary rules are plain and few; We many, and those needless, rules pursue: Faith from our hearts into our heads we drive, And make religion all contemplative. You on heaven's will may witty glosses feign; But that which I must practise here is plain: If the All-great decree her life to spare, He will the means, without my crime, prepare. [_Exit St_ CATH. _Por._ Yet there is one way left! it is decreed, To save your life, that Maximin shall bleed; 'Midst all his guards I will his death pursue, Or fall a sacrifice to love and you. _Ber._ So great a fear of death I have not shown, That I would shed his blood to save my own; My fear is but from human frailty brought, And never mingled with a wicked thought. _Por._ 'Tis not a crime, since one of you must die, Or is excused by the necessity.