Is this a time for grief? Is this my welcome To air, to life, to liberty, and Crete? Not this I hop'd, when urg'd by ardent love, I wing'd my eager way to Phædra's arms; Then to my thoughts relenting Phædra flew, With open arms, to welcome my return, [nefs, With kind endearing blame condemn'd my rafhAnd made me fwear to venture out no more, Oh my worm foul, my boiling fancy glow'd With charming hopes of yet untafted joys; New pleafures fill'd my mind, all dangers, pains, Wars, wounds, defeats, in that dear hope were luft. Your fudden prefence would furprise her soul, THESEUS. His eafy heart receiv'd the guilty flame, THESEUS. Then 'twas for this fhe banish'd him from I thought it hatred all: O righteous hatred! LYCON. What eafy tools are thefe blunt honeft heroes, THESEUS. Ha! am I fure fhe's wrong'd? perhaps 'tis m Slave, make it clear, make good your accusation, LYCON. Am I then doubted and can faithful Lycon Be thought to forge fuch execrable falfehoods? Gods! when the queen unwillingly complains, Can you fuípect her truth? O godlike Thefeus! Is this the love you bear unhappy Phædra! Is this her hop'd-for aid! Go, wretched matren, -Whence then that shocking change, that ftrongSigh to the winds, and rend th' unpitying heavens That fright that feiz'd him at the name of Pha My fon!-Eut he's too good, too brave to wrong her. dra! LYCON. furprise, Was he furpris'd? that fhew'd at least reniorfe. THESEUS. Remorfe! for what? By Heavens, my trou bled thoughts Prefage fome dire attempt.-Say, what remorse! LYCON. I would not-- This Phædra orders; thrice her faultering tongue THESEUS. Of love! what frange fufpicions rack my foul? As you regard my peace, declare, what love! LYCON. So urg'd, I must declare; yet, pitying Heaven, Why must I fpeak? Why muft unwilling Lycon Accufe the prince of impious love to Phædra? THESEUS. Love to his mother! to the wife of Thefeus! LYCON. Yes, at the moment first he view'd her eyes, Ev'n at the altar, when you join'd your hands, With thy vain forrows, fince relentless Thefeus, thee! THESEUS. Not hear my Phædra! Not revenge her wrongs' Speak, make thy proofs, and then his doom's as fix'd As when Jove speaks, and high Olympus flakes, LYCON. Bear witnefs, Heaven! With what reluctance I produce this fword, This fatal proof against th' unhappy prince, Left it should work your juftice to his ruin, And prove he aim'd at force, as well as inceft. THESEUS. Gods 'tis illufion all! Is this the fword LYCON. Had you this morn beheld his ardent eyes, her, In the chaste transports of becoming fury, Yet can it be?-Is this th' inceftuous villain? How great his prefence, how erect his look, How every grace, how all his virtuous mother Shines in his face, and charms me from his eyes! Oh Neptune! Oh, great founder of our race! Why was he fram'd with fuch a godlike look? Why wears he not fome moft detefted form, Baleful to fight, as horrible to thought, That I might act my juftice without grief, Punish the villain, nor regret the fon? Oh were it fo! [Afide.] When laft did you attend her? HIPPOLITUS. When last attend her?-Oh unhappy queen! Your error's known, yet I disdain to wrong you, Or to betray a fault myself have caus'd. [Afide When last attend her? THESEUS. Answer me directly; Nor dare to trifle with your father's rage. HIPPOLITUS. My lord, this very morn I faw the queen. What pafs'd? THESEUS. HIPPOLITUS. I afk'd permiffion to retire. And was that all? THESEU3. HIPPOLITUS. My lord, I humbly beg, With the most low fubmiffions, afk no more. THESEUS. Yet you don't anfwer with your low fubmiffions. Answer, or never hope to fee me more. HIPPOLITUS. Too much he knows, I fear, without my telling; And the poor queen's betray'd and loft for ever. [Afide. THESEUS. He changes, gods! and faulters at the question: His fears, his words, his looks declare him guilty. [Afide. HIPPOLITUS. Why do you frown, my lord? Why turn away, As from fome loathfome monster, not your fon? THESEUS. Thou art that monster, and no more my fon. Not one of those of the most horrid form, Of which my hand has cas'd the burthen'd earth, Was half fo fhocking to my fight as thou. HIPPOLITUS. Where am I, gods? Is that my father Thefeus? Am I awake? Am I Hippolitus? THESEUS. Thou are that fiend.-Thou art Hippolitus. Thou art!-Oh fall! Oh fatal stain to honour! How had my vain imagination form'd thee! Brave as Alcides, and as Minos juft! Sometimes it led me through the maze of war; There it furvey'd thee ranging through the field, Mowing down troops, and dealing out destruction: Sometimes with wholefome laws reforming ftates, Crowning their happy joys with peace and plenty; While you HIPPOLITUS. With all my father's foul infpir'd, Leapt to the image of my father's joy, How did I think my glorious toil o'er-paid? Go tread the rugged paths of daring honour; THESEUS. Reward thee?- -Yes, as Minos would reward Was Minos then thy pattern? And did Minos, Hear your wrong'd fon. The fword-Oh f tal vow! Enfnaring oaths; and thou, rafh thoughtless fool, THESEUS. Yes, the gods will doom thee. The fword, the fword! Now fwear, and call to witness Heaven, hell, and earth. I mark it not from one, HIPPOLITUS. Was that like guilt, when with expanded arms, Inceft with Phædra, with thy mother Phædra. HIPPOLITUS. This charge fo unexpected, fo amazing, So new, fo ftrange, impoffible to thought, Stuns my astonish'd foul, and ties my voice. Canft thou be only clear'd by disobedience, And justify'd by crimes?-What! love my foe! Love one defcended from a race of tyrants, Whose blood yet reeks on my avenging fword! I'm curft each moment I delay thy fate: - Hafte to the fhades, and tell the happy Pallas Ifmena's flames, and let him taste such joys As thou giv'ft me; go tell applauding Minos The pious love you bore his daughter Phædra; Tell it the chattering ghosts, and hifling furies, Tell it the grinning fiends, till hell found nothing To thy pleas'd ears but Phædra and Ismena. Enter CRATANder. Seize him, Cratander; take this guilty fword, Let his own hand avenge the crimes it acted, And bid him die, at leaft, like Thefeus' fon. Take him away, and execute my orders. HIPPOLITUS. Heavens how that strikes me! How it wounds my foul! To think of your unutterable forrows, When you shall find Hippolitus was guiltless! Yet when you know the innocence you doom'd, When you shall mourn your fon's unhappy fate, = Oh, I beseech you by the love you bore me, With my last words (my words will then prevail) Oh for my fake forbear to touch your life, Nor wound again Hippolitus in Thefeus. Let all my virtues, all my joys, furvive Fresh in your breast, but be my woes forgot; The woes which fate, and not my father, wrought. Oh let me dwell for ever in your thoughts, Let me be honour'd still, but not deplor'd. THESEUS. Then thy chief care is for thy father's life. Oh all ye gods how this enflames my fury! Off, woman. ISMENA. |