Polemius. 
No, my son, ’t was but this instant
That I entered here, alarmed
By the strange and sudden shrillness
Of thy voice; and though I had
On my hands important business,
Grave and weighty, since to me
Hath the Emperor transmitted
This decree, which bids me search
Through the mountains for the Christians
Hidden there, and specially
For Carpophorus, their admitted
Chief and teacher, for which cause
I my voice too thus uplifted—­
“Yes, Carpophorus must pay
For the trouble that this gives me”—­
I left all at hearing thee.—­
Why so absent? so bewildered? 
What ’s the reason?

Chrysanthus. 
                     Sir, ’t is naught.

Polemius. 
Whom didst thou address?

Chrysanthus. 
                          Here sitting
I was reading to myself,
And perchance conceived some image
I may have addressed in words
Which have from my memory flitted.

Polemius. 
The grave sadness that o’erwhelms thee
Will, unless it be resisted,
Undermine thy understanding,
If thou hast it still within thee.

Claudius. 
’T is a loud soliloquy,
’T is a rather audible whisper
That compels one’s friends to hasten
Full of fear to his assistance!

Chrysanthus. 
Well, excitement may . . .

Polemius. 
                           Oh! cease;
That excuse will scarce acquit thee,
Since when one ’s alone, excitement
Is a flame that ’s seldom kindled. 
I am pleased, well pleased to see thee
To the love of books addicted,
But then application should not
To extremes like this be driven,
Nor should letters alienate thee
From thy country, friends, and kinsmen.

Claudius. 
A young man by heaven so favoured,
With such rare endowments gifted,
Blessed with noble birth and valour,
Dowered with genius, rank, and riches,
Can he yield to such enthralment,
Can he make his room a prison,
Can he waste in idle reading
The fair flower of his existence?

Polemius. 
Dost thou not remember also
That thou art my son?  Bethink thee
That the great Numerianus,
Our good emperor, has given me
The grand government of Rome
As chief senator of the city,
And with that imperial burden
The whole world too—­all the kingdoms,
All the provinces subjected
To its varied, vast dominion. 
Know’st thou not, from Alexandria,
From my native land, my birth-place,
Where on many a proud escutcheon
My ancestral fame is written,
That he brought me here, the weight
Of his great crown to bear with him,
And that Rome upon my entry
Gave to me a recognition
That repaid the debt it owed me,
Since the victories were admitted
Which in glorious alternation
By my sword and pen were given her? 
Through what vanity, what folly,
Wilt thou not enjoy thy birth-right
As my son and heir, indulging
Solely in these idle whimseys?—­