You offend the gods,
creators
of your reality:
You betray the man to whom you pledged all loyalty:
You betray your children, those unfortunates,
Whom you drive beneath the yoke's harsh weight.
You betray the man to whom you pledged all loyalty:
You betray your children, those unfortunates,
Whom you drive beneath the yoke's harsh weight.
Racine - Phaedra
When shall I follow the chariot with my eyes
Charging nobly on, through the dust that flies?
Oenone
What, lady?
Phaedra
Maddened, where am I! What did I say?
Where have I let my will and spirit go play? 180
I have lost them: the gods deny me their use.
Oenone, blushes cover my face, its truth:
I have let you see my sad shame too clearly,
And my eyes, despite myself, weep tearfully.
Oenone
Oh! If you must blush, blush for your silence 185
That still embitters your sorrow's violence.
Rebelling against our care, deaf to our discourse,
Will you let your last days take this pitiless course?
What madness limits them in the midst of their force?
What spell, what poison has dried up their source? 190
Three times the shadows have obscured the sky,
Since sleep has entered in your saddened eye:
Three times has day driven night from the firmament,
While your body languished without nourishment.
By what fearful design are you being tempted? 195
By what right do you dare to let your life be ended?
You offend the gods, creators of your reality:
You betray the man to whom you pledged all loyalty:
You betray your children, those unfortunates,
Whom you drive beneath the yoke's harsh weight. 200
Think how that day will snatch away their mother,
And give hope to the son of that alien other,
To that proud enemy of yours, your race's doom,
That son an Amazon carried in her womb,
That Hippolytus. . .
Phaedra
Gods!
Oenone
You're moved by my censure? 205
Phaedra
Wretched woman, whose name do you dare to mention?
Oenone
That's good! Your anger rises for a reason:
I'm glad to see you shudder at her fatal son.
Live then. As love and duty shall drive you on,
Live, and don't allow that child of a Scythian, 210
Crushing your children in despised embrace,
To command the gods' and Greece's noblest race.
But don't delay: each moment now is killing you.
Quickly then, your waning strength needs rescue,
While the flame of your life, almost dwindled, 215
Still endures, and can even yet be rekindled.
Phaedra
I've already prolonged its guilty thread too far.
Oenone
How! By what remorse are you being torn apart?
