Each prop thou hast is but a sword to pierce;
If Polyeucte hold their heart, the people fierce
Will gather fiercer courage from despair.

FELIX.
Death settles all; they'll find no helper there,
And if--without a head--the body should rebel,
Convulsive throes I mock, and nerveless fury quell.
Whate'er ensues the Emperor must approve,
I shall have done my part, and win his love.
Here comes the man

(Enter Polyeucte and Soldiers)

I still must try to save;
If he repent--'tis well! If not--the grave!
(To Polyeucte)
Is life still hateful? Doth death still allure?
Is earth still naught? Do heavenly joys endure?
Doth Christ still counsel thee to hate thy wife;--
To sheathe thy sword,--to cast away thy life?

POLY.
I never hated life, or wooed a grave,
To life I am a servant--not a slave.
Here service free I give upon this earth below,--
For higher service changed when to His Home I go.
Eternal life is this: to tread the path He trod;
To Him your body yield! Then trust your soul to God!