Phaedra | Page 5

be reinforced By sons of hers; he dreads a single shoot From stock
so guilty, and would fain with her Bury their name, that, even to the
tomb Content to be his ward, for her no torch Of Hymen may be lit.
Shall I espouse Her rights against my sire, rashly provoke His wrath,
and launch upon a mad career--
THERAMENES The gods, dear prince, if once your hour is come, Care
little for the reasons that should guide us. Wishing to shut your eyes,
Theseus unseals them; His hatred, stirring a rebellious flame Within
you, lends his enemy new charms. And, after all, why should a guiltless
passion Alarm you? Dare you not essay its sweetness, But follow rather
a fastidious scruple? Fear you to stray where Hercules has wander'd?
What heart so stout that Venus has not vanquish'd? Where would you
be yourself, so long her foe, Had your own mother, constant in her
scorn Of love, ne'er glowed with tenderness for Theseus? What boots it
to affect a pride you feel not? Confess it, all is changed; for some time
past You have been seldom seen with wild delight Urging the rapid car
along the strand, Or, skilful in the art that Neptune taught, Making th'
unbroken steed obey the bit; Less often have the woods return'd our
shouts; A secret burden on your spirits cast Has dimm'd your eye. How
can I doubt you love? Vainly would you conceal the fatal wound. Has
not the fair Aricia touch'd your heart?
HIPPOLYTUS Theramenes, I go to find my father.
THERAMENES Will you not see the queen before you start, My
prince?
HIPPOLYTUS That is my purpose: you can tell her. Yes, I will see her;

duty bids me do it. But what new ill vexes her dear Oenone?

SCENE II HIPPOLYTUS, OENONE, THERAMENES
OENONE Alas, my lord, what grief was e'er like mine? The queen has
almost touch'd the gates of death. Vainly close watch I keep by day and
night, E'en in my arms a secret malady Slays her, and all her senses are
disorder'd. Weary yet restless from her couch she rises, Pants for the
outer air, but bids me see That no one on her misery intrudes. She
comes.
HIPPOLYTUS Enough. She shall not be disturb'd, Nor be confronted
with a face she hates.

SCENE III PHAEDRA, OENONE
PHAEDRA We have gone far enough. Stay, dear Oenone; Strength
fails me, and I needs must rest awhile. My eyes are dazzled with this
glaring light So long unseen, my trembling knees refuse Support. Ah
me!
OENONE Would Heaven that our tears Might bring relief!
PHAEDRA Ah, how these cumbrous gauds, These veils oppress me!
What officious hand Has tied these knots, and gather'd o'er my brow
These clustering coils? How all conspires to add To my distress!
OENONE What is one moment wish'd, The next, is irksome. Did you
not just now, Sick of inaction, bid us deck you out, And, with your
former energy recall'd, Desire to go abroad, and see the light Of day
once more? You see it, and would fain Be hidden from the sunshine
that you sought.
PHAEDRA Thou glorious author of a hapless race, Whose daughter
'twas my mother's boast to be, Who well may'st blush to see me in such
plight, For the last time I come to look on thee, O Sun!
OENONE What! Still are you in love with death? Shall I ne'er see you,
reconciled to life, Forego these cruel accents of despair?
PHAEDRA Would I were seated in the forest's shade! When may I
follow with delighted eye, Thro' glorious dust flying in full career, A
chariot--
OENONE Madam?
PHAEDRA Have I lost my senses? What said I? and where am I?

Whither stray Vain wishes? Ah! The gods have made me mad. I blush,
Oenone, and confusion covers My face, for I have let you see too
clearly The shame of grief that, in my own despite, O'erflows these
eyes of mine.
OENONE If you must blush, Blush at a silence that inflames your woes.
Resisting all my care, deaf to my voice, Will you have no compassion
on yourself, But let your life be ended in mid course? What evil spell
has drain'd its fountain dry? Thrice have the shades of night obscured
the heav'ns Since sleep has enter'd thro' your eyes, and thrice The dawn
has chased the darkness thence, since food Pass'd your wan lips, and
you are faint and languid. To what dread purpose is your heart inclined?
How dare you make attempts upon your life, And so offend the gods
who gave it you, Prove false to Theseus and your marriage vows, Ay,
and betray your most unhappy children, Bending their necks yourself
beneath the yoke? That day,