Felix monologue — Polyeucte

His soul thou canst not read--tho' noble heart he feigns. The father he abhors,--the daughter he disdains! What Polyeucte won he sought: his suit denied, Severus sues no more,--I know his pride. His words, his prayers, his threats for Polyeucte plead, His _tongue_ says, 'Listen, or be lost indeed!' Unskilled the fowler who his snare reveals: If at the bait I snatch--my doom is sealed: Too plain, too coarse, this web for any fly-- Shall I this spider hail in my fatuity? His wrath is wrath arranged, his generous fire is nursed, That I, at Decius' hand, may meet the doom accurst, If I should pardon grant--that grace my crime would be, For he the spoil would reap of my credulity. No simpleton am I, each promise to believe, Words--oaths--are but the tools wherewith all men deceive; Too oft escaped am I to be so lightly caught; I know that words are wind. I know that wind is naught. The trapper shall be trapped,--the biter shall be bit, Unravelled is the web that he, poor fool, hath knit!