No More Learning

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.
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.