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PHÆDRA.

Yes, yes, they love;

Why else should he refuse my proffer'd bed? Why should one warm'd with youth, and thirst of glory,

Disdain a soul, a form, a crown like mine?

LYCON.

Where, Lycon, where was then thy boasted cunning? Dull, thoughtless wretch!

PHÆDRA.

O pains unfelt before!

The grief, despair, the agonies, and pangs,
All the wild fury of distracted love,

Are nought to this.-Say, famous politician,
Where, when, and how, did their first passion rise?
Where did they breathe their sighs? What shady
groves,

What gloomy woods, conceal'd their hidden loves?
Alas! they hid it not; the well-pleas'd Sun
With all his beams survey'd their guiltless flame;
Glad zephyrs wafted their untainted sighs,
And Ida echo'd their endearing accents.
While I, the shame of Nature, hid in darkness,
Far from the balmy air and cheering light,
Prest down my sighs, and dry'd my falling tears;
Search'd a retreat to mourn, and watch'd to grieve.

LYCON.

Now cease that grief, and let your injur'd love Contrive due vengeance; let majestic Phædra, That lov'd the hero, sacrifice the villain. Then haste, send forth your ministers of vengeance, To snatch the traitor from your rival's arms, And force him trembling to your awful presence,

PHÆDRA.

O rightly thought!-Dispatch th' attending guards,

Bid them bring forth their instruments of death;
Darts, engines, flames, and launch into the deep,
And hurl swift vengeance on the perjur'd slave.
Where am 1, gods? What is't my rage commands?
Ev'n now he's gone! Ev'n now the well-tim'd oars
With sounding strokes divide the sparkling waves,
And happy gales assist their speedy flight.
Now they embrace, and ardent love enflames
Their flushing cheeks, and trembles in their eyes.
Now they expose my weakness and my crimes:
Now to the sporting crowd they tell my follies.

Enter Cratander.

CRATANDER.

Sir, as I went to seize the persons order'd, I met the prince, and with him fair Ismena; I seiz'd the prince, who now attends without.

PHÆDRA.

Haste, bring him in.

LYCON.

Be quick, and seize Ismena. Enter Hippolitus.

PHÆDRA.

Stoop to so mean, so base a vice as fraud? Nay act such monstrous perfidy, yet start From promis'd love?

HIPPOLITUS.

My soul disdain'd a promise.

PHÆDRA.

But yet your false equivocating tongue,
Your looks, your eyes, your every motion promis'd.
But you are ripe in frauds, and learn'd in falsehoods.
Look down, O Theseus, and behold thy son,

As Sciron faithless, as Procrustes cruel.
Behold the crimes, the tyrants, all the monsters,
From which thy valour purg'd the groaning Earth:
Behold them all in thy own son reviv'd.

HIPPOLITUS.

Touch not my glory, lest you stain your own; I still have strove to make my glorious father Blush, yet rejoice to see himself outdone; To mix my parents in my lineal virtues, As Theseus just, and as Camilla chaste.

PHÆDRA.

The godlike Theseus never was thy parent. No, 'twas some monthly Cappadocian drudge, Obedient to the scourge, and beaten to her arms, Begot thee, traitor, on the chaste Camilla. Camilla chaste! An Amazon and chaste! That quits her sex, and yet retains her virtue. See the chaste matron mount the neighing steed; In strict embraces lock the struggling warrior, And choose the lover in the sturdy foe.

Enter Messenger, and seems to talk earnestly with Lycon.

HIPPOLITUS.

No; she refus'd the vows of godlike Theseus, And chose to stand his arms, not meet his love; And doubtful was the fight. The wide Thermodoon Heard the huge strokes resound; its frighted waves Convey'd the rattling din to distant shores, Whilst she alone supported all his war: Nor till she sunk beneath his thundering arm, Beneath which warlike nations bow'd, would yield To honest wish'd for love.

PHEDRA.

Not so her son; Who boldly ventures on forbidden flames, On one descended from the cruel Pallas, Foe to thy father's person and his blood; Hated by him, of kindred yet more hated, The last of all the wicked race he ruin'd, In vain a fierce successive hatred reign'd Between your sires: in vain, like Cadmus' race, With mingled blood they dy'd the blushing Earth.

HIPPOLITUS.

In vain indeed, since now the war is o'er; We, like the Theban race, agree to love, And by our mutual flames and future offspring, Atone for slaughter past.

PHÆDRA.

Your future offspring.

Couldst thou deceive me? Could a son of Heavens! What a medley's this? What dark conTheseus

fusion,

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As ravenous vultures watch the dying lion,
To tear his heart, and riot in his blood.
Hark! Hark, my little infant cries for justice!
Oh! be appeased, my babe, thou shalt have justice.
Now all the spirits of my god-like race
Enflame my soul, and urge me on to vengeance.
Arsamnes, Minos, Jove, th' avenging Sun,
Inspire my fury, and demand my justice.

Oh! ye shall have it; thou, Minos, shalt ap-
plaud it;

Yes, thou shalt copy it in their pains below.

Gods of revenge, arise.-He comes! He comes!
And shoots himself through all my kindling blood.
I have it here.-Now base perfidious wretch,
Now sigh, and weep, and tremble in thy turn.
'Yes, your Ismena shall appease my vengeance.
Ismena dies: and thou her pitying lover
Doom'dst her to death.-Thou too shall see her
bleed ;.

See her convulsive pangs, and hear her dying
groans:

Go, glut thy eyes with thy ador'd Ismena,
And laugh at dying Phædra!

HIPPOLITUS.

Oh Ismena!

ISMENA.

Alas! My tender soul would shrink at death,
Shake with its fears, and sink beneath its pains,
In any case but this.-But now I'm steel'd,
And the near danger lessens to my sight.
Now, if I live, 'tis only for Hippolitus,
And with an equal joy I'll die to save him.
Yes, for his sake I'll go a willing shade,
And wait his coming in th' Elysian fields,
And there inquire of each descending ghost
Of my lov'd hero's welfare, life, and honour.
That dear remembrance will improve the bliss,
Add to th' Elysian joys, and make that Heaven
more happy.

HIPPOLITUS.

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That lov'd thee living, e'er behold thee dead?
Yet thou could'st see me die without concern,
Rather than save a wretched queen from ruin.
Else could you choose to trust the warring winds,
The swelling waves, the rocks, the faithless sands,
And all the raging monsters of the deep!

Oh heavenly virgin; [Aside.]—O imperial Phæ- Oh! think you see me on the naked shore ; dra,

Let your rage fall on this devoted head;

But spare, oh! spare a guiltless virgin's life:

Think how I scream and tear my scatter'd hair;
Break from the embraces of my shrieking maids,
And harrow on the sand my bleeding bosom :

Then catch with wide-stretch'd arms the empty | And Heaven inspires my thoughts with righteous billows,

And headlong plunge into the gaping deep.

HIPPOLITUS.

O, dismal state! My bleeding heart relents, And all my thoughts dissolve in tenderest pity.

PHÆDRA.

If you can pity, O! refuse not love;
But stoop to rule in Crete, the seat of heroes,
And nursery of gods-A hundred cities

Court thee for lord, where the rich busy crowds
Struggle for passage through the spacious streets;
Where thousand ships o'ershade the lessening main,
And tire the labouring wind. The suppliant na-
tions

Bow to its ensigns, and with lower'd sails
Confess the ocean's queen. For thee alone
The winds shall blow, and the vast ocean roll.
For thee alone the fam'd Cydonian warriors
From twanging yews shall send their fatal shafts.

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PHÆDRA.

Why not thine?

Dost thou so far detest my proffer'd bed,
As to refuse my crown?-O, cruel youth!
By all the pain that wrings my tortur'd soul!
By all the dear deceitful hopes you gave me ;
O! ease, at least once more delude, my sorrows.
For your dear sake I've lost my darling honour;
For you, but now I gave my soul to death:
For you I'd quit my crown, and stoop beneath
The happy bondage of an humble wife.
With thee I'd climb the steepy Ida's summit,
And in the scorching heat and chilling dews,
O'er hills, o'er vales, pursue the shaggy lion:
Careless of danger and of wasting toil,
Of pinching hunger and impatient thirst,
I'd find all joys in thee.

HIPPOLITUS.

Why stoops the queen

To ask, entreat, to supplicate and pray,
To prostitute her crown and sex's honour,
To one whose humble thoughts can only rise
To be your slave, not lord?

PHAEDRA.

And is that all?

Gods! Does he deign to force an artful groan?
Or call a tear from his unwilling eyes,
Hard as his native rocks, cold as his sword,
Fierce as the wolves that howl'd around his birth?
He hates the tyrant, and the suppliant scorns.
O Heaven! O Minos! O imperial Jove!
Do

ye not blush at my degenerate weakness! Hence lazy, mean, ignoble passion, fly; Hence from my soul-'Tis gone, 'tis fled for ever.

vengeance.

Thou shalt no more despise my offer'd love;
No more Ismena shall upbraid my weakness.
[Catches Hipp. sword to stab herself.
Now all ye kindred gods look down and see,
How I'll revenge you, and myself, on Phædra.

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Is he return'd? Thanks to the pitying gods.
Shall I again behold his awful eyes?
Again be folded in his loving arms?
Yet in the midst of joy I fear for Phædra;

I fear his warmth and unrelenting justice.
O! should her raging passion reach his ears,
His tender love, by anger fir'd, would turn
To burning rage; as soft Cydonian oil,
Whose balmy juice glides o'er th' untasting tongue,
Yet touch'd with fire, with hottest flames will blaze.
But oh, ye powers! I see his godlike form,
O extasy of joy! He comes, he comes!
Is it my lord? My father? Oh! 'tis be:
I see him, touch him, feel his known embraces,
See all the father in his joyful eyes.

Enter Theseus with others.

Where have you been, my lord? What angry demon

Hid you from Crete? From me?-What god has sav'd you?

Did not Philotas see you fall? O answer me!
And then I'll ask a thousand questions more.

THESEUS.

No: but to save my life I feign'd my death;
My horse and well-known arms confirm'd the tale,
And hinder'd farther search. This honest Greek
Conceal'd me in his house, and cur'd my wounds;
Procur'd a vessel; and, to bless me more,
Accompany'd my flight.—

But this at leisure. Let me now indulge
A father's fondness; let me snatch thee thus;
Thus fold thee in my arms. Such, such, was I
[Embraces Hippolitus.
When first I saw thy mother, chaste Camilla;
And much she lov'd me.-Oh! Did Phædra view

me

With half that fondness!-But she's still unkind

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Pardon me, my lord.

THESEUS.

Forget her former treatment; she's too good Still to persist in hatred to my son.

HIPPOLITUS.

Why must I drag th' insufferable load
Of foul dishonour, and despairing love?
Oh! length of pain! Am I so often dying,
And yet not dead? Feel I so oft death's pangs,
Nor once can find its ease?

LYCON.

Would you now die?
Now quit the field to your insulting foe?
Then shall he triumph o'er your blasted name:
Ages to come, the universe, shall learn
The wide immortal infamy of Phædra:
And the poor babe, the idol of your soul,

O! let me fly from Crete,-from you, [Aside. The lovely image of your dear dead lord,

and Phædra.

THESEUS.

My son, what means this turn? this sudden start? Why would you fly from Crete, and from your father?

HIPPOLITUS.

Not from my father, but from lazy Crete;
To follow danger, and acquire renown:
To quell the monsters that escap'd your sword,
And make the world confess me Thesus' son.

THESEUS.

What can this coldness mean? Retire, my son,
[Exit Hippolitus.
While I attend the queen.-What shock is this?
Why tremble thus my limbs? why faints my heart?
Why am I thrill'd with fear, till now unknown?
Where's now the joy, the extasy, and transport,
That warm'd my soul, and urg'd me on to Phædra?
O! had I never lov'd her, l'ad been blest.

Sorrow and joy, in love, alternate reign;
Sweet is the bliss, distracting is the pain.
So when the Nile its fruitful deluge spreads,
And genial heat informs its slimy beds;
Here yellow harvests crown the fertile plain,
There monstrous serpents fright the labouring
swain:

A various product fills the fatten'd sand,
And the same floods enrich and curse the land.

ACT IV.

Enter Lycon solus.

LYCON.

THIS may gain time till all my wealth's embark'd,
To ward my foes revenge, and finish mine,
And shake that empire which I can't possess.
But then the queen-She dies-Why let her die;
Let wide destruction seize on all together,
So Lycon live. - A safe triumphant exile,
Great in disgrace, and envy'd in his fall.
The queen!-then try thy art, and work her passion.
Enter Phædra and Attendants.

Draw her to act what most her soul abhors,
Possess her whole, and speak thyself in Phædra.

PHÆDRA.

Off, let me loose; why, cruel barbarous maids, Why am I barr'd from Death, the common refuge, That spreads its hospitable arms for all?

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Oh he will tell it all!-Destruction seize him!
With seeming grief, and aggravating pity,
And more to blacken, will excuse your folly;
False tears shall wet his unrelenting eyes,
And his glad heart with artful sighs shall heave:
Then Theseus-How will indignation swell
His mighty heart! How his majestic frame
Will shake with rage too fierce, too swift for vent!
How he'll expose you to the public scorn,
And loathing crowds shall murmur out their
horrour!

Then the fierce Scythian-Now methinks I see
His fiery eyes with sullen pleasures glow,
Survey your tortures, and insult your pangs;
I see him, smiling on the pleas'd Ismena,
Point out with scorn the once proud tyrant Phædra.

PHÆDRA.

Curst be his name! May infamy attend him!
May swift destruction fall upon his head,
Hurl'd by the hand of those he most adores!

LYCON.

By Heaven, prophetic truth inspires your tongue!
He shall endure the shame he means to give;
And all the torments which he heaps on you,
With just revenge, shall Theseus turn on him.

PHÆDRA.

Is 't possible? Oh Lycon! Oh my refuge!
Oh good old man! thou oracle of wisdom!
Declare the means, that Phædra may adore thee.

Accuse him first.

LYCON.

PHÆDRA.

Enter Theseus.

LYCON.

Declare your last resolves.

PHEDRA.

Do you resolve, for Phædra can do nothing.
[Exit Phædra:

LYCON.

Now, Lycon, heighten his impatient love,
Now raise his pity, now inflame his rage,
Quicken his hopes, then quash them with despair;
Work his tumultuous passions into frenzy ;
Unite them all, then turn them on the foe.

THESEUS.

Was that my queen, my wife, my idol, Phædra?
Does she still shun me? Oh injurious Heaven?
Why did you give me back again to life?
Why did you save me from the rage of battle,
To let me fall by her more fatal hatred ?

LYCON.

Her hatred! No, she loves you with such fond

ness,

As none but that of Theseus e'er could equal; Yet so the gods have doom'd, so Heaven will have it,

She ne'er must view her much-lov'd Theseus more.

THESEUS.

Not see her! By my sufferings but I will, Though troops embattled should oppose my pas, sage,

And ready death should guard the fatal way.
Not see her! Oh I'll clasp her in these arms,
Break through the idle bands that yet have held me,
And seize the joys my honest love may claim.

LYCON.

Is this a time for joy? when Phædra's grief

THESEUS.

Is this a time for grief? Is this my welcome
To air, to life, to liberty, and Crete?
Not this I hop'd, when, urg'd by ardent love,
I wing'd my eager way to Phædra's arms;
Then to my thoughts relenting Phædra flew,
With open arms, to welcome my return,
With kind endearing blame condemn'd my rashness,
And made me swear to venture out no more.
Oh! my warm soul, my boiling fancy glow'd
With charming hopes of yet untasted joys;
New pleasures fill'd my mind, all dangers, pains,
Wars, wounds, defeats, in that dear hope were lost.

Oh Heavens! Accuse the guiltless! And does she now avoid my eager love,

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