Hippolitus (in distant Scythia born, The warlike Amazon, Camilla's son),

Addison and Prior.]

ACT I. SCENE 1.

Enter Cratander and Lycon.

LYCON.

"TIS strange, Cratander, that the royal Phædra Should still continue resolute in grief,

And obstinately wretched:

That one so gay, so beautiful and young,
Of godlike virtue and imperial power,
Should fly inviting joys, and court destruction.

CRATANDER.

Is there not cause, when lately join'd in marriage, To have the king her husband call'd to war? Then for three tedious moons to mourn his absence, Nor know his fate?

LYCON.

The king may cause her sorrow, But not by absence. Oft I've seen him hang With greedy eyes, and languish o'er her beauties; She from his wide, deceiv'd, desiring arms Flew tasteless, loathing; whilst dejected Theseus, With mournful loving eyes pursu'd her flight, And dropt a silent tear.

CRATANDER.

Ha! this is hatred, This is aversion, horrour, detestation: Why did the queen, who might have cull'd mankind,

And sure the queen could wish him still unknowne She loaths, detests him, flies his hated presence, And shrinks and trembles at his very name.

CRATANDER.

Well may she hate the prince she needs must fear; He may dispute the crown with Phædra's son. He's brave, he's fiery, youthful, and belov'd; His courage charms the men, his form the women; His very sports are war.

LYCON.

O! he's all hero, scorns th' inglorious ease Of lazy Crete, delights to shine in arms, To wield the sword, and lanch the pointed spear: Neighs on the hills, and dares the angry lion: To tame the generous horse, that nobly wild To make their stubborn necks the rein obey, To join the struggling coursers to his chariot, To turn, to stop, or stretch along the plain. Now the queen's sick, there's danger in his cou

rage.

Be ready with your guards.-I fear Hippolitus.
[Exit Crat.
Fear him! for what? poor silly virtuous wretch,
Affecting glory, and contemning power:
Warm without pride, without ambition brave;
A senseless hero, fit to be a tool

To those whose godlike souls are turn'd for empire.
An open honest fool, that loves and hates,
And yet more fool to own it. He hates flatterers,
He hates me too; weak boy, to make a foe
Where he might have a slave. I hate him too,

But cringe, and flatter, fawn, adore, yet hate him. Let the queen live or die, the prince must fall.

Enter Ismena.

What! still attending on the queen, Ismena?
O charming virgin! O exalted virtue !
Can still your goodness conquer all your wrongs?
Are you not robb'd of your Athenian crown?
Was not your royal father, Pallas, slain,
And all his wretched race, by conquering Theseus?
And do you still watch o'er his consort Phædra,
And still repay such cruelty with love?

ISMENA.

Let them be cruel that delight in mischief, I'm of a softer mould, poor Phædra's sorrows Pierce through my yielding heart, and wound my soul.

LYCON.

Now thrice the rising Sun has cheer'd the world, Since she renew'd her strength with due refreshment;

Thrice has the night brought ease to man, to beast,
Since wretched Phædra clos'd her streaming eyes:
She flies all rest, all necessary food,
Resolv'd to die, nor capable to live.

ISMENA.

But now her grief has wrought her into frenzy ; The images her troubled fancy forms Are incoherent, wild; her words disjointed: Sometimes she raves for music, light, and air; Nor air, nor light, nor music, calm her pains; Then with extatic strength she springs aloft, And moves and bounds with vigour not her own.

LYCON.

Then life is on the wing, then most she sinks When most she seems reviv'd. Like boiling water That foams and hisses o'er the crackling wood, And bubbles to the brim; ev'n then most wasting, When most it swells.

ISMENA,

My lord, now try your art; Her wild disorder may disclose the secret Her cooler sense conceal'd; the Pythian goddess Is dumb and sullen, till with fury fill'd She spreads, she rises, growing to the sight, She stares, she foams, she raves; the awful secrets Burst from her trembling lips, and ease the tortur'd maid.

But Phædra comes, ye gods! how pale, how weak!

Enter Phædra and Attendants,
PHÆDRA.

Stay, virgins, stay, I'll rest my weary steps; My strength forsakes me, and my dazzled eyes Ake with the flashing light, my loosen'd knees Sink under their dull weight; support me, Lycon. Alas! I faint.

LYCON.

Afford her ease, kind Heaven!

PHÆDRA.

Why blaze these jewels round my wretched head! Why all this labour'd elegance of dress!

Come, let's away, and thou, most bright Diana, Goddess of woods, immortal, chaste Diana! Goddess presiding o'er the rapid race, Place me, O place me in the dusty ring Where youthful charioteers contend for glory! See how they mount and shake the flowing reins! See from the goal the fiery coursers bound, Now they strain panting up the steepy hill, Now sweep along its top, now neigh along the vale! How the car rattles! how its kindling wheels Smoke in the whirl! The circling sand ascends, And in the noble dust the chariot's lost!

LYCON.

And does his name provoke your just resentments!

Then let it raise your fear, as well as rage: Think how you wrong'd him, to his father wrong'd him!

Think how you drove him hence, a wandering exile To distant climes! then think what certain vengeance

His rage may wreak on your unhappy orphan!
For his sake then renew your drooping spirits,
Feed, with new oil, the wasting lamp of life,
That winks and trembles, now, just now expiring:
Make haste, preserve your life!

PH.EDRA,

Do not upbraid me, Lycon'

I love!-Alas! I shudder at the name,
My blood runs backward, and iny faultering tongue
Sticks at the sound!-1 love!-O righteous
Heaven!

Why was I born with such a sense of virtue,
So great abhorrence of the smallest crime,
And yet a slave to such impetuous guilt!
Rain on me, gods, your plagues, your sharpest
tortures,

Afflict my soul with any thing but guilt-
And yet that guilt is mine!-I'll think no more.
I'll to the woods among the happier brutes:
Come, let's away! hark the shrill horn resounds,
The jolly huntsmen's cries rend the wide Heavens!
Come, o'er the hills pursue the bounding stag,
Come, chase the lion and the foaming boar,
Come, rouse up all the monsters of the wood,
For there, ev'n there, Hippolitus will guard me!

PHÆDRA.

His love indeed! for that unhappy hour, In which the priests join'd Theseus' hand to mine, Show'd the young Scythian to my dazzled eyes. Gods! how i shook! what boiling heat inflam'd My panting breast! how from the touch of Theseus My slack hand dropt, and all the idle pomp, Priests, altars, victims, swam before my sight! The god of love, ev'n the whole god, possest me!

LYCON.

At once, at first possest you?

PHEDRA.

Yes, at first!

That fatal evening we pursued the chase,
When from behind the wood, with rustling sound,
A monstrous boar rush'd forth; his baleful eyes
Shot glaring fire, and his stiff-pointed bristles
Rose high upon his back; at me he made,
Whetting his tusks, and churning hideous foam :
Then, then Hippolitus flew in to aid me;
Collecting all himself, and rising to the blow,
He launch'd the whistling spear; the well-aim'd
javelin

Pierc'd his tough hide, and quiver'd in his heart;
The monster fell, and gnashing with huge tusks
Plow'd up the crimson earth. But then Hippolitus,
Gods! how he mov'd and look'd when he ap-
proach'd me!

When hot and panting from the savage conquest,
Dreadful as Mars, and as his Venus lovely,
His kindling cheeks with purple beauties glow'd,
His lovely, sparkling eyes shot martial fires:
Oh godlike form! oh extasy and transport!
My breath grew short, my beating heart sprung
upward,

And leap'd and bounded in my heaving bosom.
Alas! I'm pleas'd, the horrid story charms me.-
No more. That night with fear and love I sicken'd.
Oft I receiv'd his fatal charming visits;
Then would he talk with such an heavenly grace,
Look with such dear compassion on my pains,
That I could wish to be so sick for ever.
My ears, my greedy eyes, my thirsty soul,
Drank gorging in the dear delicious poison,
Till I was lost, quite lost in impious love:
And shall I drag an execrable life:

And shall I heard up guilt, and treasure vengeance?

O fortunate event'
Then earth-born Lycon may ascend the throne,
Leave to his happy son the crown of Jove,
And be ador'd like him. [Aside.] Mourn, mourn,
ye Cretans,

Since he is dead, whose valour sav'd your isle,
Whose prudent care with flowing plenty crown'd
His peaceful subjects; as your towering Ida
With spreading oaks, and with descending streams,
Shades and enriches all the plains below.
Say, how he dy'd.

MESSENGER.

He dy'd as Theseus ought, In battle dy'd; Philotas, now a prisoner, That, rushing on, fought next his royal person, That saw his thundering arm beat squadrons down, Saw the great rival of Alcides fall:

These eyes beheld his well-known steed, beheld A proud barbarian glittering in his arms, Encumber'd with the spoil.

PHÆDRA.

Is he then dead!

Is my much-injur'd lord, my Theseus, dead!