Felix. 
     He death escapes—­if so he do elect.

     Paul. 
     He death embraces—­as doth all his sect. 
     Is’t thus a father pleads for his own son?

     Felix. 
     Who wills his death is by himself undone.

     Paul. 
     He cannot see!

     Felix. 
     Because he chooses night. 
     Who loves the darkness hateth still the light.

     Paul. 
     O, by the Gods—­

     Felix. 
     Nay, daughter, save thy breath;
     Spurned—­outraged—­’tis the Gods demand his death.

     Paul. 
     They hear our prayers—­

     Felix. 
     Nay, then let Polyeucte pray!

     Paul. 
     Since Decius gives thee power,—­that word unsay!

     Felix. 
     He gives me power, Pauline, to do his will
     Against his foes—­’gainst all who work him ill.

     Paul. 
     Is Polyeucte his foe?

     Felix. 
     All Christians rebels are.

     Paul. 
     Thy son shall plead more loud than policy or war. 
     For mine is thine; O father, save thine own—­

     Felix. 
     The son who is a traitor I disown! 
     For treason is a crime without redress,
     ’Gainst which all else sinks into nothingness.

     Paul. 
     Too great thy rigour!

     Felix. 
     Yet more great his guilt.

     Paul. 
     Too true my dream!  Must his dear blood be spilt? 
     With Polyeucte, I too—­thy child—­shall fall!

     Felix. 
     The Gods—­the Emperor—­rule over all.

     Paul. 
     O hear our dying supplication—­hear!

     Felix. 
     Not Jove alone, but Decius I fear:—­
     But why anticipate a doom so sad? 
     Shall this—­his blindness—­make thy Polyeucte mad? 
     Fresh Christian zeal remains not always new,
     The sight of death compels a saner view.

     Paul. 
     O, if thou lov’st him still, all hope forsake! 
     In one day can he two conversions make? 
     Not this the Christians’ mould:  they never change;
     His heart is fixed—­past power of man to estrange. 
     This is no poison quaffed all unawares,
     What martyrs do and dare—­that Polyeucte dares;
     He saw the lure by which he was enticed,
     He thinks the universe well lost for Christ. 
     I know the breed; I know their courage high,
     They love the cross,—­so, for the cross, they die. 
     We see two stakes of wood, the felon’s shame,
     They see a halo round one matchless Name. 
     To powers of earth, and hell, and torture blind,
     In death, for Him they love, they rapture find. 
     They joy in agony,—­our gain their loss,
     To die for Christ they count the world but dross: 
     Our rack their crown, our pain their highest pleasure,
     And in the world’s contempt they find their treasure. 
     Their cherished heritage is—­martyrdom!