No More Learning

Who even knows if the king your father, would
Wish the mystery of his absence understood?
Or if, though like you we've trembled for his safety,
The hero, hiding some new love affair, may be 20
Merely waiting till his betrayed lover, as yet. . . .

Hippolyte

Stop, dear Theramenes, show Theseus some respect.
Free of his youthful errors now, returning,
No unworthy obstacle would there delay him:
Ending his fatal inconstancy by her prayers, 25
Phaedra no longer has any such rival to fear.
Yet, seeking him I'll go and fulfil my duty,
Leaving these shores I no longer wish to see.

Theramenes

My lord, since when did you fear the proximity,
Of peaceful scenes, so dear to you from infancy, 30
Whose haunts I've often seen you prefer before
The tumultuous pomp of Athens and her court?
What risk, or rather what sorrow, drives you away?

Hippolyte

Glad times are no more. All's changed since the day
That, to our shores, the gods despatched the daughter, 35
Of Minos King of Crete: Pasiphae her mother.

Theramenes

I see. The reason for your pain is known to me.
Phaedra, grieves you, here, offends you deeply.
A dangerous stepmother, who scarcely saw you
Before she signalled her wish to banish you. 40
But the hatred that she then turned your way
Has either lessened, now, or seeped away.
And what danger can she offer you, besides:
A dying woman: and one who seeks to die?
Phaedra, touched by illness her silence covers, 45
Tired at last of herself, and the light around her,
What designs could she intend against you?

Hippolyte

Her fruitless enmity's not what I have in view.
Hippolyte, in leaving, flees someone other.
I flee, I confess, from young Aricia, 50
Last of a deadly race that conspires against me.

Theramenes

What! Are you persecuting her, my lord, indeed?
Has that sweet sister of the cruel Pallantides
Ever been involved in her brothers' perfidies?
Can you bring yourself to hate her innocent charms? 55

Hippolyte

If I hated her I would not flee her arms.

Theramenes

Am I allowed to explain this flight to us?
Can it be you're no longer proud Hippolytus,
Implacable enemy of the laws of love,
Of that yoke Theseus so often knew above? 60
Could Venus whom your pride so often scorned,
Wish to justify Theseus, after all?
And placing you in the ranks of other mortals,
Force you now to light incense at her altars?