Strat monologue — Polyeucte

Lady, 'tis because he must! He loves thee with a love will never die, Then, if he leave thee, reason not the why: Give him thy trust! Oh, thou shalt have reward, For thee he hides the secret! Let him guard Thy life beloved--in fullest liberty. The wife who wholly trusts alone is free! One heart for thee and him--one purpose sure, Yet this heart beats to dare--and to endure. The wife's true heart must o'er the peril sigh Which meets his heart moved but to purpose high; Thy pain his pain, but not his terror thine: He is Armenian, thou of Roman line. We, of Armenia, mock thy dreams to scorn, For they are born of night, as truth of morn; While Romans hold that dreams are heaven-sent, And spring from Jove for man's admonishment.