He shall not win, thy Polyeucte may embrace!
My duty--to a father's love betrayed
Hath of thy sire a fond accomplice made;
A healing balm I bring for all thy fears,
I look for thanks, and lo--thou giv'st me tears!

PAUL.
I give no thanks--no cause for thanks I find;
I know the Christian temper--know their mind,
They can blaspheme, but ah, they cannot lie!
They know not how to yield--but they can die!

FELIX.
As bird in hand, he holds his pardon still.

PAUL.
The bird escapes, when 'tis the owner's will.

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!