PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLITUS, A TRAGEDY. TO THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES LORD HALIFAX. MY LORD, As soon as it was made known that your lordship was not displeased with this play, my friends began to value themselves upon the interest they had taken in its success; I was touched with a vanity I had not before been acquainted with, and began to dream of nothing less than the immortality of my work. And I had sufficiently shown this vanity in inscribing this play to your lordship, did I only consider you as one to whom so many admirable pieces, to whom the praises of Italy, and the best Latin poem since the Æneid, that on the peace of Ryswick, are consecrated. But it had been intolerable presmption to have addressed it to you, my lord, who are the nicest judge of poetry, were you not also the greatest encourager of it; to you who excel all the present age as a poet, did you not surpass all the preceding ones as a patron. For in the times when the Muses were most encouraged, the best writers were countenanced, but never advanced; they were admitted to the acintance of the greatest men, but that was all they were to expect. The banty of the patron is no where to be read of but in the works of the poets, Whereas your lordship's will fill those of the historians. For what transactions can they write of, which have not been managed some who were recommended by your lordship? 'Tis by your lordship's beans, that the universities have been real nurseries for the state; that the courts abroad are charmed by the wit and learning, as well as the sagacity, of our ministers; that Germany, Switzerland, Muscovy, and even Turkey itself, begins to relish the politeness of the English; that the poets at home adorn that court which they formerly used only to divert; that abroad they travel, in a manner very unlike their predecessor Homer, and with an equipage he could not bestow, even on the heroes he designed to immortalize. And this, my lord, shows your knowledge of men as well as writings, and your judgment no less than your generosity. You have distinguished between those who by their inclinations or abilities were qualified for the pleasure only, and those that were fit for the service of your country; you made the one easy, and the other useful: you have left the one no occasion to wish for any preferment, and you have obliged the public by the promotion of the others. And now, my lord, it may seem odd that I should dwell on the topic of your bounty only, when I might enlarge on so many others; when I ought to take notice of that illustrious family from which you are sprung, and yet of the great merit which was necessary to set you on a level with it, and to raise you to that house of peers, which was already filled with your relations: when I ought to consider the brightness of your wit in private conversation, and the solidity of your eloquence in public debates; when I ought to admire in you the politeness of a courtier, and the sincerity of a friend; the openness of behaviour, which charms all who address themselves to you, and yet that hidden reserve, which is necessary for those great affairs in which you are concerned. To pass over all these great qualities, my lord, and insist only on your generosity, looks as if I solicited it for myself; but to that I quitted al manner of claim when I took notice of your lordship's great judgment in the choice of those you advance; so that all at present my ambition aspires to is, that your lordship would be pleased to pardon this presumption, and permit me to profess myself, with the most profound respect, your lordship's most humble, and most obedient servant, EDM. SMITH. Hippolitus (in distant Scythia born, [See the Prologue and Epilogue in the Poems of Till our queen's marriage, was unknown to Crete; 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, CRATANDER. Is there not cause, when lately join'd in marriage, LYCON. The king may cause her sorrow, CRATANDER. Ha! this is hatred, This is aversion, horrour, detestation : And sure the queen could wish him still unknown: CRATANDER. Well may she hate the prince she needs must fear LYCON. O! he's all hero, scorns th' inglorious ease rage. Be ready with your guards.-1 fear Hippolitus. To those whose godlike souls are turn'd for empire. An open honest fool, that loves and hates, Why did the queen, who might have cull'd mankind, 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? 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, 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. 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! Why flow these wanton curls in artful rings! ISMENA. This you requir'd, and to the pleasing task Call'd your officious maids, and urg'd their art; You bid them lead you from yon hideous darkness | To the glad cheering day, yet now avoid it, And hate the light you sought. PHÆDRA. Oh my Lycon! Oh! how I long to lay my weary head On tender, flowery beds, and springing grass, With the cool nectar of refreshing springs. LYCON. I'll sooth her freuzy; come, Phædra, let's away Let's to the woods, and lawns, and limpid streams PHÆDRA. 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! PHÆDRA. Do not upbraid me, Lycon I love!-Alas! I shudder at the name, Why was I born with such a sense of virtue, Afflict my soul with any thing but guilt- Hippolitus! LYCON. PHÆDRA. Who's he that names Hippolitus! Ah! I'm betray'd, and all my guilt discover'd! Oh! give me poison, swords-I'll not live, not bear it; I'll stop my breath! ISMENA. I'm lost, but what's that loss! Hippolitus is lost, or lost to me: Yet should her charms prevail upon his soul, With my last parting breath I'd bless my lord; Should he be false, I would not wish him ill, Then in some lonely desert place expire, Whence my unhappy death should never reach him, Lest it should wound his peace, or damp his joys. [Aside. LYCON. Think still the secret in your royal breast, For by the awful majesty of Jove, By the all-seeing Sun, by righteous Minos, By all your kindred gods, we swear, O Phædra, Safe as our lives, we'll keep the fatal secret. ISMENA, &c. We swear, all swear, to keep it ever secret. PHÆDRA. Keep it! from whom? why it's already known, The tale, the whisper of the babbling vulgar! Oh! can you keep it from yourselves, unknow it? Or do you think I'm so far gone in guilt, That I can see, can bear the looks, the eyes, Of one who knows my black detested crimes, Of one who knows that Phædra loves her son? LYCON. Unhappy queen! august, unhappy race! Oh! why did Theseus touch this fatal shore? Why did he save us from Nicander's arms, To bring worse ruin on us by his love? |