No More Learning

I fear I have closed your ears to all his cries.
I tremble lest your just anger follow after,
Swiftly pursuing in him his hated mother.

Hippolyte

Madame, my feelings are not as base as that. 595

Phaedra

If you hated me, I would not complain of it,
My Lord. You thought me intent on doing harm:
But you could not read the depths of my heart.
I took care to expose myself to your hostility:
Could not endure your presence in my country. 600
I spoke against you in public, and privately,
I wished to be parted from you by the sea:
I even declared a law that forbade, expressly,
Any man to dare to speak your name to me.
Yet if one measures the offence by its pain, 605
If hatred alone inspires hatred again,
No woman was ever worthier of pity,
And less deserving, my Lord, of your enmity.

Hippolytus

A mother jealous of the rights of her children,
Seldom tolerates the son of another husband. 610
I know that, Madame. Constant suspicion
Is the most common fruit of a second union.
Every other would have taken like offence,
And I'd have suffered insults the more intense.

Phaedra

Oh! My Lord, I dare to say here that heaven, 615
In this case, wished to make me an exception!
A different matter troubles and consumes me!
Hippolyte

Madame, then you are troubled prematurely.
Perhaps your husband still sees the light of day:
With his return, heaven might those tears repay. 620
Neptune protects him: my father has never
Called in vain to his guardian god in prayer.

Phaedra

We cannot view the shores of the dead twice, my Lord.
Since Theseus has already seen those sombre shores,
The hope some god may send him back to you is vain, 625
And greedy Acheron never lets loose its prey.
What do I say? He's not dead: in you he breathes.
I always believe I see my husband before me.
I see, I speak to him, and my heart. . . forgive me,
My Lord, my fond passion speaks, in spite of me. 630

Hippolytus

I see the profound effect of your fondness.
Dead though he may be, you still see Theseus:
Your soul is forever inflamed with love of him.

Phaedra

Yes, Prince, I languish, and I burn for him.
I love him, not one whom hell has seen descend, 635
Fickle worshipper of a thousand diverse ends,
Who'd dishonour the bed of the god of the dead:
But the loyal, proud, even shy man, instead,
Charming, young: drawing after him all hearts.