Sidor som bilder
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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.

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Your fudden prefence would furprise her soul,
Renew the galling image of her wrongs,
Revive her forrow, indignation, fhame;
And all your fon would ftrike her from your eyes.

THESEUS.

His eafy heart receiv'd the guilty flame,
And from that time he preft her with his paffron.

THESEUS.

Then 'twas for this fhe banish'd him from
Crete:

I thought it hatred all: O righteous hatred!
Forgive me, Heaven; forgive me, injur'd Phæda,
That I in fecret have condemn'd thy justice.
Oh! 'twas all juft, and Thefeus shall revenge,
Ev'n on his fon, revenge his Phædra's wrongs

LYCON.

What eafy tools are thefe blunt honeft heroes,
Who with keen hunger gorge the naked hook,
Prevent the bait the ftatefman's art prepares,
And post to ruin!-Go, believing fool,
Go act thy far-fam'd juftice on thy son,
Next on thyfelf, and both make way for Lycon.
[42

THESEUS.

Ha! am I fure fhe's wrong'd? perhaps 'tis m
lice.

Slave, make it clear, make good your accusation,
Or treble fury hall revenge my fon.

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--
--yet I must.—This you com-
mand;

This Phædra orders; thrice her faultering tongue
Bade me unfold the guilty fcene to Thefeus;
Thrice with loud cries recall'd me on my way,
And blam'd my speed, and chid my rafh obedience,
Left the unwelcome tale should wound your peace.
At last, with looks ferenely fad, the cry'd,
Go, tell it all; but in fuch artful words,
Such tender accents, and fuch melting founds,
As may appeafe his rage, and move his pity;
As may incline him to forgive his fon
A grievous fault, but still a fault of love.

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,
Thy hope, thy refuge, Thefeus, will not hear

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,
And Fate his voice obeys.

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
By which Procruftes, Scyron, Pallas fell ?
Is this the weapon which my darling fon
Swore to employ in nought but acts of honour!
Now, faithful youth, thou nobly haft fulfill'd
Thy generous promife. O moft injur'd Phzdra!
Why did I trust to his deceitful form?
Why blame thy justice, or suspect thy truth?

LYCON.

Had you this morn beheld his ardent eyes,
Seen his armi lock'd in her dishevel'd hair,
That weapon glittering o'er her trembling bofom,
Whilft the with fcreams refus'd his impions jove,
Entreating death, and rifing to the wound.
Oh had you feen her, when the frighted youth
Retir'd at your approach: had you then ken

her,

In the chaste transports of becoming fury,

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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?

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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,
Burnt with impatient thirst of early honour,
To hunt through bloody fields the chafe of glory,
And blefs your age with trophies like your own.
Gods: How that warm'd me! How my throbbing
heart

Leapt to the image of my father's joy,
When you inouid ftrain me in your folding arms,
And with kind raptures, and with fobbing joys,
Commend my valour, and confefs your fon!

How did I think my glorious toil o'er-paid?
Then great indeed, and in my father's love,
With more than conqueft crown'd? Go on, Hip-
politus,

Go tread the rugged paths of daring honour;
Practife the ftricteft and aufterest virtue,
And all the rigid laws of righteous Minos;
Thefeus, thy father Thefeus, will reward thee.

THESEUS.

Reward thee?- -Yes, as Minos would reward
thee.

Was Minos then thy pattern? And did Minos,
The great, the good, the juft, the righteous Minos,
The judge of hell, and oracle of earth,
Did he infpire adultery, force, and inceft?

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Hear your wrong'd fon. The fword-Oh f

tal vow!

Enfnaring oaths; and thou, rafh thoughtless fool,
To bind thyfelf in voluntary chains;
Yet to thy fatal truft continue firm!
Beneath difgrace, though infamous, yet honeft.
Yet hear me, father, may the righteous gods
Shower all their curfes on this wretched head.
Oh may they doom me!-

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,
That breathes beneath fuch complicated guilt.

HIPPOLITUS.

Was that like guilt, when with expanded arms,
I fprang to meet you at your wish'd return?
[Afide. Does this appear like guilt? When thus ferene,
With eyes erect and vifage unapall'd,
Fixt on that awful face, I ftand the charge;
Amaz'd, not fearing: Say, if I am guilty,
Where are the confcious looks, the face now pale
Now flushing red, the downcaft haggard eyes,
Or fix'd on earth, or flowly rais'd to catch
A fearful view, then funk again with horror?

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.

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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 blooming hypocrite! Oh young dissembler!
Well haft thou fhewn the care thou tak'ft of
Thefeus,

Oh all ye gods how this enflames my fury!
I fcarce can hold my rage; my eager hands
VOL. VI.

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Off,

woman.

ISMENA.

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