And Theseus' death sits lighter on my soul: Hide, hide in shameful night thy beamy head, PHEDRA. Alas! my lord, believe me not so vile. No: by thy goddess, by the chaste Diana, None but my first, my much-lov'd lord Arsamnes, Was e'er receiv'd, in these unhappy arms. No! for the love of thee, of those dear charms, Which now I see are doom'd to be my ruin, I still deny'd my lord, my husband Theseus, The chaste, the modest joys of spotless marriage; That drove him hence to war, to stormy seas, To rocks and waves less cruel than his Phædra. You need not urge, nor tempt my swelling rage Death? He's not dead! he lives, he breathes, he Long has it rack'd and rent my tortur'd bosom; speaks, He lives in you, he's present to my eyes, I see him, speak to him.My heart! I rave And all my folly's known. But now 'tis out. Shame, rage, confusion, tear HIPPOLITUS. Then let me take the warning and retire; I'd rather trust the rough Ionian waves, Than woman's fiercer rage. [Exit. [Ismena shows herself, listening. LYCON. Alas! my lord, You must not leave the queen to her despair. HIPPOLITUS. Must not? From thee? From that vile upstart Lycon. LYCON. Yes: from that Lycon who derives his greatness [Enter Guards. HIPPOLITUS. So, confinement is When fierce Procrustes' arms o'er-ran your ] But when he struggles in th' entangling toils, kingdom? Insult the dying prey.-'Tis kindly done, Ismena, [Ism, enters. When your streets echo'd with the cries of orphans, Your shrieking maids clung round the hallow'd shrines, When all your palaces and lofty towers LYCON. Take not an easy short confinement ill, Which your own safety and the queen's requires ; But fear not aught from one that joys to serve you. HIPPOLITUS. O, I disdain thee, traitor, but not fear thee, Nor will I hear of services from Lycon. Thy very looks are lies, eternal falsehood Smiles in thy lips and flatters in thy eyes; Ev'n in thy humble face I read my ruin, In every cringing bow and fawning sinile : Why else d'you whisper out your dark suspicions? Why with malignant elogies increase The people's fears, and praise me to my ruin? Why through the troubled streets of frighted Gnossus Do bucklers, helms, and polish'd armour blaze? Why sounds the dreadful din of instant war, Whilst still the foe's unknown? With all your charms to visit my distress, Freedom and fame, and in the dear confinement ISMENA. O Hippolitus! OI could ever dwell in this confinement! Nor wish for aught while I behold my lord; But yet that wish, that only wish is vain. When my hard fate thus forces me to beg you, Drive from your god-like soul a wretched maid; Take to your arms (assist me Heaven to speak it) Take to your arms imperial Phædra, And think of me no more. HIPPOLITUS. Not think of thee?' What! part, for ever part? Unkind Ismena: ISMENA. Think not of me: perhaps my equal mind May learn to bear the fate the gods allot me. Yet would you hear me; could your lov'd Ismena With all her charms o'er-rule your sullen honour, You yet might live, nor leave the poor Ismena. HIPPOLITUS. Speak, if I can, I'm ready to obey. ISMENA. Give the queen hopes. `_ HIPPOLITUS. No more. -My soul disdains it. No, should I try, my haughty soul would swell; Sharpen each word, and threaten in my eyes. O! should I stoop to cringe, to lie, forswear? Deserve the ruin which I strive to shun? ISMENA. O, I can't bear this cold contempt of death! This rigid virtue, that prefers your glory To liberty or life. O cruel man! By these sad sighs, by these poor streaming eyes, By that dear love that makes us now unhappy, By the near danger of that precious life, Heaven knows I value much above my own. What! Not yet mov'd? Are you resolv'd on death? Then, ere 'tis night, I swear by all the powers, This steel shall end my fears and life together. HIPPOLITUS. You shan't be trusted with a life so precious. No, to the court I'll publish your design, Ev'n bloody Lycon will prevent your fate; ISMENA. Is this thy truth? Is this thy boasted honour? Ismena here! [Aside. Phædra! Come on, I'll lead you on to Phædra; 'Tis all agreed, and now the prince is safe From the sure vengeance of despairing love. ISMENA. Does he then wed the queen? LYCON. At least I think so. Ah! wherefore should I stay? Perhaps Alas! how many things might charm CHO. Wait the success: it is not yet decided. ISMENA. Not yet decided! Did not Lycon tell us Enter Hippolitus. HIPPOLITUS. Why hangs that cloudy sorrow on your brow? Why do you sigh? Why flow your swelling eyes, Those eyes that us'd with joy to view Hippolitus? Then thus. I came and spake, but scarce of love; The easy queen receiv'd my faint address With eager hope and unsuspicious faith. Lycon with seeming joy dismiss'd my guards, My generous soul disdain'd the mean deceit, But still deceiv'd her to obey Ismena. ISMENA. Pardon the errours of a silly maid, Then let each day, each hour, each minute, bring Some kind remembrance of your constant love; Speak of your health, your fortune, and your friends (For sure those friends shall have my tenderest wishes) Speak much of all; but of thy dear, dear love, Speak much, speak very much, and still speak on. HIPPOLITUS. Oh! thy dear love shall ever be my theme, The loosen'd canvass trembles with the wind, Will you refuse me? Can I leave behind me All that inspires my soul, and cheers my eyes? Will you not go? Then here I'll wait my doom. Art thou then true? Thou art. Oh, pardon me, Come, raving l'hædra, bloody Lycon come! 1 offer to your rage this worthless life, Since 'tis no longer my Ismena's care. ISMENA. O! haste away, my lord; I go, I fly Through all the dangers of the boisterous deep. When the wind whistles through the crackling masts, When through the yawning ship the foaming sea Thou shalt alone supply the distant Sun, HIPPOLITUS. Come, let's away, and like another Jason I'll bear my beauteous conquest through the seas: A greater treasure, and a nobler prize Than he from Colchos bore. Sleep, sleep in peace, Ye monsters of the woods, on Ida's top Securely roam; no more my early horn Shall wake the lazy day. Transporting love Reigns in my heart, and makes me all its own. So when bright Venus yielded up her charms, The blest Adonis languish'd in her arms; His idle horn on fragrant myrtles hung, His arrows scatter'd, and his bow unstrung: Obscure in coverts lie his dreaming hounds, And bay the fancy'd boar with feeble sounds. For nobler sports he quits the savage fields, And all the hero to the lover yields. Is there aught else? Has happy Phædra aught, Which gives Hippolitus to Phædra's arms. Say, where's the prince? |