live—­there life is pure,
     Vice dies untended, virtues all endure. 
     We give these men to rack, and cord, and flame,
     While they forgive us—­in their Pardoner’s name. 
     They no sedition raise, they ne’er rebel,
     Rome makes them soldiers, and they serve her well. 
     They rage in battle, faithful ward they keep,
     They fight like lions, but they die like sheep. 
     They serve the State:  Rome’s servant must defend
     Those who to might of Rome such succour lend. 
     Pauline, I will obey, whate’er befall;
     The man who loseth honour loseth all.

ACT V—­FELIX.  ALBIN.  CLEON

     Felix. 
     Caught in Severus’ net thy Felix see! 
     He hates and holds me—­oh, the misery!

     Albin. 
     I see a generous man, who cries, ’Forgive,
     Let Pauline smile once more—­let Polyeucte live!’

     Felix. 
     His soul thou canst not read—­tho’ noble heart he feigns. 
     The father he abhors,—­the daughter he disdains! 
     What Polyeucte won he sought:  his suit denied,
     Severus sues no more,—­I know his pride. 
     His words, his prayers, his threats for Polyeucte plead,
     His tongue says, ‘Listen, or be lost indeed!’
     Unskilled the fowler who his snare reveals: 
     If at the bait I snatch—­my doom is sealed: 
     Too plain, too coarse, this web for any fly—­
     Shall I this spider hail in my fatuity? 
     His wrath is wrath arranged, his generous fire is nursed,
     That I, at Decius’ hand, may meet the doom accurst,
     If I should pardon grant—­that grace my crime would be,
     For he the spoil would reap of my credulity. 
     No simpleton am I, each promise to believe,
     Words—­oaths—­are but the tools wherewith all men deceive;
     Too oft escaped am I to be so lightly caught;
     I know that words are wind.  I know that wind is naught. 
     The trapper shall be trapped,—­the biter shall be bit,
     Unravelled is the web that he, poor fool, hath knit!

     Albin. 
     Jove!  What a plague to thee is this mistrust!

     Felix. 
     Nay, those at court must fence; their weapons never rust,
     If once thou yield the clue to thread the maze,
     The sequence is most plain—­the man betrayed betrays;
     Severus, and his gifts, alike I fear! 
     If Polyeucte still to reason close his ear,
     Severus’ love is hate—­his peace is strife—­
     First law of nature this, ‘Preserve thy life!’

     Albin. 
     Ah, let Pauline at least thy grace obtain!

     Felix. 
     If Decius grace withhold, my pardon vain! 
     And—­far from saving this rebellious son—­
     Behold us all alike entrapped, undone!

     Albin. 
     Severus’ promise——­