No More Learning

Well! Contemplate Phaedra then in all her fury.
I love. But don't think at the moment of loving you
I find myself innocent in my own eyes, or approve,
Or that slack complacency has fed the poison, 675
Of this wild passion that troubles all my reason.
I, the wretched object of divine vengeance,
Loathe myself much more than you ever can.
The gods are my witnesses, those gods who placed
The fire in my breast, so fatal to all my race, 680
Those gods whose glory it is, always cruel,
To seduce the heart of a weak mortal.
You yourself can bring the past the mind, too,
It was not enough to avoid you: I exiled you.
I wished to seem odious, inhuman to you. 685
I sought your hate, the better to resist you.
How have those useless efforts brought success?
You hated me more: I did not love you less.
Your misfortune even lent you fresh dimension.
I languished, withered, in tears, and in passion. 690
You only needed eyes to be persuaded,
If your eyes had looked at me, not been dissuaded.
What?
This confession that I so shamefully,
Make to you, do you think it voluntary?
Trembling for a son I did not dare betray, 695
To beg you not to hate him I come today.
Weak project of a heart too full of what it loves!
Alas! It is only yourself I have spoken of.
Take vengeance: punish me for loathed delight.
Worthy son of a hero who granted you light. 700
Deliver the world from a monster so odious.
Theseus' widow dares to love Hippolytus!
This dreadful monster won't escape: believe me.
Here's my heart. Here's where your hand should strike me.
Impatient already to expiate its offence, 705
To meet your arm I can feel it now advance.
Strike. Or if you think it not worthy of your blow,
If your hate refuses me such sweet torment, so,
Or if your hand by my vile blood would be stained,
Instead of your arm lend me then your blade. 710
Offer it.