The Cretan monster would have
perished
there,
At your hand, despite the toils of his vast lair.
At your hand, despite the toils of his vast lair.
Racine - Phaedra
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.
Such as one depicts the gods: or as you are. 640
He shares your bearing, your eyes, your speech,
That noble modesty that stains his cheeks,
As when he sailed across our Cretan waters
Worthy to be desired by Minos' daughters.
What were you doing then? Why gather the heroes, 645
All the flower of Greece, without Hippolytus?
Why could you, still so young, not be aboard
The ships that brought him once to our shores?
The Cretan monster would have perished there,
At your hand, despite the toils of his vast lair. 650
To disentangle that confusing problem, too
My sister would have handed you the fatal clew.
No! I'd have been before her with that course,
Love would have swiftly inspired the thought.
I it is, Prince, I whose expert assistance 655
Would have taught you the windings of the Labyrinth.
With what care I would have cherished your dear head!
Your lover would not have been content with a thread.
A companion in the danger you had to go through,
I myself would have wished to walk ahead of you: 660
And Phaedra, plunging with you into the Labyrinth,
Would have returned with you, or herself have perished.
Hippolytus
You gods! What do I hear? Madame, do you forget
That Theseus is my father, your husband yet?
Phaedra
And what makes you think I forget his memory 665
Prince? Have I lost all care for my own glory?
Hippolytus
Madame, forgive me. I blush at my confession
I've wrongly judged an innocent expression.
My shame can no longer endure your vision:
And I go.
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.
Such as one depicts the gods: or as you are. 640
He shares your bearing, your eyes, your speech,
That noble modesty that stains his cheeks,
As when he sailed across our Cretan waters
Worthy to be desired by Minos' daughters.
What were you doing then? Why gather the heroes, 645
All the flower of Greece, without Hippolytus?
Why could you, still so young, not be aboard
The ships that brought him once to our shores?
The Cretan monster would have perished there,
At your hand, despite the toils of his vast lair. 650
To disentangle that confusing problem, too
My sister would have handed you the fatal clew.
No! I'd have been before her with that course,
Love would have swiftly inspired the thought.
I it is, Prince, I whose expert assistance 655
Would have taught you the windings of the Labyrinth.
With what care I would have cherished your dear head!
Your lover would not have been content with a thread.
A companion in the danger you had to go through,
I myself would have wished to walk ahead of you: 660
And Phaedra, plunging with you into the Labyrinth,
Would have returned with you, or herself have perished.
Hippolytus
You gods! What do I hear? Madame, do you forget
That Theseus is my father, your husband yet?
Phaedra
And what makes you think I forget his memory 665
Prince? Have I lost all care for my own glory?
Hippolytus
Madame, forgive me. I blush at my confession
I've wrongly judged an innocent expression.
My shame can no longer endure your vision:
And I go.
