Eustratius Proculus _is borne into the square_.

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The Martyrs' Idyl — Part 7

_A Voice._ Now shall we view The snorting tiger-dam at bay, the while The cub’s concealed.

The Martyrs' Idyl — Part 7

_The Prefect._ Be silent! Clear with rods The threshold of that house: the accused alone Shall stand there. Hither and together call The trumpeters, for I this cause arraign In open air.

The Martyrs' Idyl — Part 7

Who so disturbs the streets, With the grave ends of justice interferes, And draws contempt on me? What roysterer, What prince of Alexandria’s worst?

_Didymus._ I think It must be Christ Himself, or Christ in me, Since in His quarrel I stand ambushed thus.

_The Bailiff._ Learned of lady-love! Dull matter all: sheep filing over bars, One hobble without end.

_Didymus._ Revere that name; for she is Christ’s alone, Not mine, not mine. Whithersoever goes The Lamb in Heaven, such do follow Him.

_The Prefect._ Enough: with quick straightforward words respond. Who art thou, chief in this unseemly brawl?

_Didymus._ One new to camp and city, one indeed No alien, but your servant in the wars, Beneath the imperial eagles now three years: Octavius Didymus, centurion.

_The Prefect._ A Roman, then. What of thy friend, the woman, Duly condemned for heinous sacrilege?

_Didymus._ The innocent Theodora is set free. In as a thief came I who gave such good, But never greeted her, nor saw, nor heard, Up to our late accost in this vile pen.

_The Crowd._ More like, a fellow-Christian.

_The Prefect._ If not a Christian, it rejoiceth me, Aweary grown of all the casuist breed. I deem thou art sincere. The charge is light; The penalty shall therefore too be light, Since thou thyself of prior circumstance Wert plainly unaware; and forasmuch In thy regard, our judged idolatress Was one with any whimsied wench, cajoling A frolic hand to let her out o’ doors.

_Didymus._ Let us not fail in truth: sir, I knew this. My soul’s defiance glowed in all I wrought.

_A Voice._ By Pompey’s certain pillar, he’s a Christian! The prancing gesture, see: the head upcast, The bosom all in a white wrath, and yet Bridled and bitted: that’s their duplex way.

_The Crowd._ Eustratius Proculus, We take him for a Christian!

_The Prefect._ Prisoner, Attend, and ease our cares. Obediently Unto the known gods wilt thou sacrifice?