No More Learning

Should I shed light on the dishonour to his bed? 1340
Should I in making a statement all too sincere,
Cover with shameful blushes the brow of a father?
You alone have pierced this odious mystery.
Only to you and the gods can my heart speak.
All that I'd hide, and judge now if I love you, 1345
From my own self, I could never hide from you.
But think of the seal under which I've spoken.
My lady, and forget that speech if you can.
And never allow those lips, in their purity,
To open and then relate so vile a story. 1350
Let us dare to trust in the gods' justice:
Vindicating me's in their best interest:
And Phaedra will be punished: the guilty
Will not escape, someday, true infamy.
I will ask of you this one unique service, 1355
I leave all the rest to my liberated wrath.
Flee that to which you're reduced, this slavery,
Dare to follow my flight. Accompany me.
Tear yourself from what's fatal and profane here
Where virtue breathes a poisoned atmosphere: 1360
And in order to hide your prompt escape,
Profit from the confusion my disgrace creates.
I can provide you with the means for flight:
The only guards surrounding you are mine.
Powerful defenders will support our cause: 1365
Argos extends her arms to us: Sparta calls.
We'll carry our pleas to our mutual friends:
Let Phaedra not gather what we leave behind
Nor chase us both from an inherited crown,
Nor promise our spoils to a son of her own. 1370
The time is ripe now: we must seize the moment.
What fear restrains you? You seem uncertain?
Your rights alone inspire this boldness in me.
When I am on fire, why do you look so coldly?
Are you afraid to march to an exile's step? 1375

Aricia

Alas! How dear to me, Sire, such banishment!
Joined to your fate, and in what ecstasy
I'd live forgotten by all of humanity!
But not being joined by marriage's sweet tie,
Could I with honour leave here at your side? 1380
I know I could free myself from your father,
Without harming even the strictest honour:
I would not be escaping from a parent,
Flight is allowed to those who flee a tyrant.
But you love me, my Lord: and my honour: gone. . . 1385

Hippolyte

No, no, I've too much care for your reputation.