Felix. 
     He can never keep! 
     For Decius’ rage and hatred never sleep: 
     If for that sect abhorred Severus plead,
     He trebles loss—­so are we lost indeed! 
     One only way is ours,—­that way I try: 
     (To Guards)
     Bring Polyeucte and if he still defy,
     Self-doomed, insensate, this my proffered grace,
     He shall the death he wooes forthwith embrace!

     Albin. 
     Ah, this is stern!

     Felix. 
     ’Tis stern, ’tis just—­as fate;
     When justice drags a halting foot, too late,
     She is not justice—­for the vengeful mob
     (Whose hearts for Polyeucte ne’er cease to throb),
     Usurps her place, and, spurning curb and rein,
     The felon crowns, and all our work is vain. 
     My sceptre trembles, and all insecure
     Totters my crown,—­a prey for every boor. 
     Then, swift, Severus hears the welcome news,
     The jaundiced mind of Decius to abuse. 
     Shall I, the rabble’s lord, obey the rabble’s will?

     Albin. 
     Who ill in all around foresees,—­but doubles ill. 
     Each prop thou hast is but a sword to pierce;
     If Polyeucte hold their heart, the people fierce
     Will gather fiercer courage from despair.

     Felix. 
     Death settles all; they’ll find no helper there,
     And if—­without a head—­the body should rebel,
     Convulsive throes I mock, and nerveless fury quell. 
     Whate’er ensues the Emperor must approve,
     I shall have done my part, and win his love. 
     Here comes the man

     (Enter Polyeucte and Soldiers)

     I still must try to save;
     If he repent—­’tis well!  If not—­the grave! 
     (To Polyeucte)
     Is life still hateful?  Doth death still allure? 
     Is earth still naught?  Do heavenly joys endure? 
     Doth Christ still counsel thee to hate thy wife;—­
     To sheathe thy sword,—­to cast away thy life?

     Poly. 
     I never hated life, or wooed a grave,
     To life I am a servant—­not a slave. 
     Here service free I give upon this earth below,—­
     For higher service changed when to His Home I go. 
     Eternal life is this:  to tread the path He trod;
     To Him your body yield!  Then trust your soul to God!

     Felix. 
     Yes, trust to an abyss of depth unknown!

     Poly. 
     No, trust to Holy Cross!  That Cross my own!

     Felix. 
     The steep ascent, my son, I too would climb,
     Yes, I would Christian be,—­but—­give me time,—­
     By Jove!  I’ll tread thy path!  This my desire. 
     Else at thy hand the judge may me require!

     Poly. 
     Nay, laugh not, Felix!  He thy Judge will be,
     No refuge there for impious blasphemy! 
     Nor kings nor clowns can ’scape His righteous ire,
     His slaughtered Saints of thee will He require!