Robert Bruce Boswell - Phaedra (Act 2 Scene 1) lyrics

SCENE I ARICIA, ISMENE ARICIA Hippolytus request to see me here! Hippolytus desire to bid farewell! Is't true, Ismene? Are you not deceived? ISMENE This is the first result of Theseus' d**h. Prepare yourself to see from every side. Hearts turn towards you that were kept away By Theseus. Mistress of her lot at last, Aricia soon shall find all Greece fall low, To do her homage. ARICIA 'Tis not then, Ismene, An idle tale? Am I no more a slave? Have I no enemies? ISMENE The gods oppose Your peace no longer, and the soul of Theseus Is with your brothers. ARICIA Does the voice of fame Tell how he died? ISMENE Rumours incredible Are spread. Some say that, seizing a new bride, The faithless husband by the waves was swallow'd. Others affirm, and this report prevails, That with Pirithous to the world below He went, and saw the shores of dark Cocytus, Showing himself alive to the pale ghosts; But that he could not leave those gloomy realms, Which whoso enters there abides for ever. ARICIA Shall I believe that ere his destined hour A mortal may descend into the gulf Of Hades? What attraction could o'ercome Its terrors? ISMENE He is dead, and you alone Doubt it. The men of Athens mourn his loss. Troezen already hails Hippolytus As King. And Phaedra, fearing for her son, Asks counsel of the friends who share her trouble, Here in this palace. ARICIA Will Hippolytus, Think you, prove kinder than his sire, make light My chains, and pity my misfortunes? ISMENE Yes, I think so, Madam. ARICIA Ah, you know him not Or you would never deem so hard a heart Can pity feel, or me alone except From the contempt in which he holds our s**. Has he not long avoided every spot Where we resort? ISMENE I know what tales are told Of proud Hippolytus, but I have seen Him near you, and have watch'd with curious eye How one esteem'd so cold would bear himself. Little did his behavior correspond With what I look'd for; in his face confusion Appear'd at your first glance, he could not turn His languid eyes away, but gazed on you. Love is a word that may offend his pride, But what the tongue disowns, looks can betray. ARICIA How eagerly my heart hears what you say, Tho' it may be delusion, dear Ismene! Did it seem possible to you, who know me, That I, sad sport of a relentless Fate, Fed upon bitter tears by night and day, Could ever taste the maddening draught of love? The last frail offspring of a royal race, Children of Earth, I only have survived War's fury. Cut off in the flow'r of youth, Mown by the sword, six brothers have I lost, The hope of an illustrious house, whose blood Earth drank with sorrow, near akin to his Whom she herself produced. Since then, you know How thro' all Greece no heart has been allow'd To sigh for me, lest by a sister's flame The brothers' ashes be perchance rekindled. You know, besides, with what disdain I view'd My conqueror's suspicions and precautions, And how, oppos'd as I have ever been To love, I often thank'd the King's injustice Which happily confirm'd my inclination. But then I never had beheld his son. Not that, attracted merely by the eye, I love him for his beauty and his grace, Endowments which he owes to Nature's bounty, Charms which he seems to know not or to scorn. I love and prize in him riches more rare, The virtues of his sire, without his faults. I love, as I must own, that generous pride Which ne'er has stoop'd beneath the amorous yoke. Phaedra reaps little glory from a lover So lavish of his sighs; I am too proud To share devotion with a thousand others, Or enter where the door is always open. But to make one who ne'er has stoop'd before Bend his proud neck, to pierce a heart of stone, To bind a captive whom his chains astonish, Who vainly 'gainst a pleasing yoke rebels,— That piques my ardour, and I long for that. 'Twas easier to disarm the god of strength Than this Hippolytus, for Hercules Yielded so often to the eyes of beauty, As to make triumph cheap. But, dear Ismene, I take too little heed of opposition Beyond my pow'r to quell, and you may hear me, Humbled by sore defeat, upbraid the pride I now admire. What! Can he love? and I Have had the happiness to bend— ISMENE He comes Yourself shall hear him.