No More Learning

Take care of my dear Aricia, after I die.
Dear Friend, if my father's eyes are ever opened,
And he pities the fate of a falsely maligned son,
And wants to appease my blood, my shade so restless, 1565
Tell him to treat his captive with tenderness,
And give back to her. . . ' The hero was no more,
Leaving in my arms only his disfigured corpse,
Sad object of the god's triumphant anger,
Unrecognisable, even to his own father. 1570

Theseus

O my son! Dear hope now snatched from me!
Inexorable gods, who served me all too surely!
To what mortal regret my life will now be given!

Theramenes

Then Aricia, frightened, arrived on the scene.
She came, my Lord, fleeing from your anger, 1575
In the gods' sight having taken him to husband.
She came, and saw the grasses' red steam rise.
She saw (what a vision for a lover's eyes! )
Hippolyte, lying there, robbed of colour and form.
For some time she doubted her own misfortune, 1580
And no longer recognising the hero she adored,
She asked for Hippolytus, whom indeed she saw.
But, realising he was before her eyes, at last,
She accused the heavens with one sad glance,
And cold, grieving, almost inanimate, 1585
Fell, at her lover's feet there, in a faint.
Ismene, bathed in tears, Ismene, by her,
Recalled her to life, or rather to sorrow.
And I, hating the light, I have come, my Lord,
To relate to you the hero's final word, 1590
And acquit myself of the painful duty,
That his dying breath committed to me.
But I see that his mortal enemy comes.

Act V Scene VII (Theseus, Phaedra, Theramenes, Panope, Guards)

Theseus

So! My son is lifeless, and you triumph.
Ah! How right I was to fear, with what true reason, 1595
Forgiving him in my heart, came cruel suspicion!
But, Madame, he is dead, possess your victim:
Justly or unjustly, rejoice in his ruin.
I'll allow my eyes to be deceived forever.
I'll believe him guilty since you're his accuser. 1600
His death gives me reason enough for tears,
Without my searching into other matters:
It won't restore him to me, in my grief, again:
Perhaps it would only serve to increase my pain.
Let me, far from these shores, from everyone, 1605
Flee the bloodstained vision of my ruined son.
Dazed, obsessed by a deadly memory,
I'd banish myself from this world completely.
Everything seems to rise against my ill ruling.
The splendour of my name adds to my suffering.