That love's a harder word than death to speak?
S. Cath. Oh!
Fel. Mistake me not; I never can approve A thing so wicked as the tyrant's love. I ask you would but some false promise give, Only to gain me so much time to live. [Privately to St Catharine.
S. Cath. That promise is a step to greater sin: The hold, once lost, we seldom take again. Each bound to heaven we fainter essays make, Still losing somewhat, till we quite go back.
Max. Away! I grant no longer a reprieve.
Fel. O do but beg my life, and I may live. [To St Cath.
Have you not so much pity in your breast? He stays to have you make it your request.
S. Cath. To beg your life—— Is not to ask a grace of Maximin: It is a silent bargain for a sin. Could we live always, life were worth our cost; But now we keep with care what must be lost. Here we stand shivering on the bank, and cry, When we should plunge into eternity. One moment ends our pain; And yet the shock of death we dare not stand, By thought scarce measured, and too swift for sand: 'Tis but because the living death ne'er knew, They fear to prove it as a thing that's new. Let me the experiment before you try, I'll show you first how easy 'tis to die.
Max. Draw then that curtain, and let death appear, And let both see how easy 'twill be there.
The Scene opens, and shews the Wheel.