Act IV: Scene VI

SEV.Where am I, Fabian? Has the crack of doomTurned heaven to hell? made life a living tomb?Nearer and dearer ever--but to go!The prize within my grasp must I o'erthrow?This--Fortune's brimming cup, with poison filled,She bids me drain;--so new-born hope is killed.Before I proffer aught, I am refused;Thus sad, amazed, ashamed, in doubt, abused,I see the ghost I laid, to life revive,The more seductive still the more I strive.Ah! must a woman, sunk in deep despair,Teach me that shame is base, and honour fair?And while I madly shriek, 'O love, be kind!'Pauline, death-stricken, keeps an equal mind!O generous, but stern! Must these dear eyes,Because I love them, o'er love tyrannise?'Tis not enough to lose thee, I must giveMy aid--to make my faithless rival live!'Tis not enough: his death I would not plan,But I must save him! bless where I would ban!

FABIAN.Ah, let the whole crew light one funeral pyre;Yes, let the daughter perish with her sire!This curs'd Armenian is one hornet's nest--Crush all, then sail for Rome, ah! this were best!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 pelfI 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 hearAre fables only, coined, I know not why,Distorted are they seen in Decius' eye.They practice the black art,--so all men say.I sought to learn the laws that they obey,And to discover what the secret guiltThe which to expiate their blood is spilt.Yet priests of Cybele dark rites pursueAt Rome--untrammelled--this is nothing new:To thousand gods men build, unchecked, their fanes,The Christians' God alone our state disdains.Each foul Egyptian beast his temple rears,Caligula a god to Roman ears--Tiberius is enshrined--a Nero deified--To Christ--to Christ alone--a temple is denied!Such metamorphoses confuse the mindAs gods in cats, and saints in fiends we find;As Ruler absolute Jehovah stands,Alone o'er heaven and earth and hell commands,While pagan gods each 'gainst the other strive,And ne'er one queen is found o'er all the hive,Now--(strike me dead, Jove's tarrying thunderbolt!)So many masters must provoke revolt.And ah! where Christians 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 defendThose who to might of Rome such succour lend.Pauline, I will obey, whate'er befall;The man who loseth honour loseth all.