POLY. 
     A Christian I!

     FELIX. 
     Thou must
     Adore the gods I say!  Adore, or die!

     POLY. 
     I am a Christian.

     FELIX. 
     This is thy reply? 
     Ye Guards, do my behest—­prepare the knife!

     PAUL. 
     Where goes he?

     FELIX. 
     To his death!

     POLY. 
     Ah, no to life! 
     (To Pauline.)
     Remember me!  Farewell, Pauline, farewell!

     PAUL. 
     Nay, I will follow thee—­to heaven or hell!

     FELIX. 
     Begone!  For all our ills this one redress!

     (Exeunt Pauline, Polyeucte and Guards.)
     (Enter Albin)

     O task ungrateful to my gentle mind! 
     Well did he say, ‘Be cruel to be kind!’
     The people I defy, ah, let them rage! 
     Severus may in war of words engage. 
     Yes, I have saved myself—­I mean the State,
     To wilful man there comes relentless fate;
     My conscience pure of all reproach,—­for I
     Have lied and stormed to shake his constancy. 
     To give his hot young blood due time to cool
     I played the coward—­nay, I played the fool! 
     Why did he thus assail the gods and me
     With insult, and with horrid blasphemy? 
     But interest helped me, and resentment too. 
     Else had I found my duty hard to do!

     ALBIN. 
     Soon mayst thou this thy dear-bought victory rue,
     For thou hast done what thou canst ne’er undo! 
     Unworthy deed for Roman knight! ah, me! 
     (Aside.)
     I would that I could add, ‘unworthy thee!’

     FELIX. 
     Manlius and Brutus both a son have slain,
     And neither did thereby his glory stain;
     The part that is diseased—­that part we bleed,
     So is the State from knaves and caitiffs freed.

     ALBIN. 
     Revenge and pressing peril thee unman,
     Else—­couldst thou bless a deed all men must ban? 
     When she, thy widowed daughter, comes—­the air
     Of heaven will echo to her deep despair!

     FELIX. 
     Thou dost remind me she with Polyeucte went—­
     I know not with what mind, with what intent: 
     But her despair awakes my fond alarm,
     Go, Albin, go, and guard my child from harm! 
     She might the execution of the law
     Impede:  I would not that his death she saw. 
     Try to console her—­Go! what dost thou fear?

     (Enter Pauline)

     ALBIN. 
     I need not go, for ah—­Pauline is here!

     PAUL. 
     Tyrant, why leave thy butchery half done? 
     Come, slay thy daughter, thou hast slain thy son! 
     For, hear!—­His villainy—­or worth—­is mine! 
     Why stay thy hand while I my neck incline? 
     Thy sword in me shall find a kindred food,