She loves thee not. What canst thou hope to gain?

SEV.
A glory that shall triumph over pain;
'Tis hers, and, by the Gods, it shall be mine!
Nor God nor fiend can sully such a shrine!

FABIAN.
Speak low, for Jove has bolts, and Hell has ears!
The dangers of this course arouse my fears.
What? Decius implore a Nazarene to save!
'Tis death that hath thy heart; thou woo'st a grave.
His rage against the sect thou knowest well,
His power unbridled--his revenge is fell.
To plead for Christians is a task too great,
For man or God: thou rushest on thy fate.

SEV.
Yes, such advice, I know, is much approved,
Yet not thus can Severus' soul be moved.
To Fate unequal--equal to myself--
In duty's path I go. For power and pelf
I never swerve where honour leads the way;
Come weal, come woe, her call I must obey.
Let fate depress an all unequal scale,
Let Clothe hold her distaff--I'll not fail!
Yet one more word--this to thy private ear--
The fables that thou dost of Christians hear
Are fables only, coined, I know not why,
Distorted are they seen in Decius' eye.