Phed. Why not thine? Doft thou fo far deteft my proffer'd bed, Hip. Why loops the queen To afk, entreat, to fupplicate, and pray, Phed. And is that all? See if he deign to force an artful groan, birth! his Rather than view the face of injur'd Thefeus! Lyc. This may do fervice yet. [Exit Lycon, carries off the fword. Hip. 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 midft of joy I fear for Phædra; I fear his warmth and unrelenting justice. O! fhould her raging paffion reach his ears, His tender love, by anger fir'd, would turn To burning rage; [trumpets found] as foft Cydonian cil, Whofe balmy juice glides o'er th' untafting tongue, Yet, touch'd with fire, with hotteft flames will blaze. But, O ye pow'rs! I fee his godlike form. Enter Thefeus, Officer, and Guards. Is it my lord my father? O, 'tis he! Where have you been, my lord? what angry de mon Hid you from Crete? from me? what god has fav'd you? Did not Phuotas fee you fall O, anfwer me; Thef. No; but to fave my life I feign'd my My horfe and well-known arms confirm'd the tale, And hinder'd farther fearch. This honeft Greek But this at leifure. Let me now indulge me With half that fondnefs! kind, Why would you fly from Crete, and from your father? Hip. Not from my father, but from lazy Crete, To follow danger, and acquire renown; To quell the monfters that efcap'd your fword, And make the world confefs me Thefeus' fon. Thef. What can this coldnefs mean?-Retire, my fon, [Exit Hippolitus. While I attend the queen.--What fhock 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 ecstasy and transport, That warm'd my foul, and urg'd me on to Phædra? To ward my foes' revenge, and finish mine, Enter Phedra and Ladies. Draw her to act what most her foul abhors, Why am I barr'd from death, the common refuge, And yet not dead? feel I fo oft death's pangs, Lyc. Would you now die? Now quit the field to your infulting foe> Inherit your difgrace, but not your crown. And only live to curfe the name of Phædra? Gods! cruel gods can't all my pains atone, As ftreams when damm'd forget their ancient cur Then with fresh charms adorn your'troubled looks, Phad. Impoffible! what, woo him with these eyes, Still wet with tears that flow'd-but not for The feus ? This tongue, fo us'd to found another name ? should urge his temper to too nice a fearch, Conceal the wild diforders of eyes, tray me? Betray thee, Phædra! then thou 'rt not betray'd. Live, live fecure, adoring Crete conceals thee; Thy pious love, and moft endearing goodness Will charm the kind Hippolitus to filence. wretched Phædra! O ill-guarded fecret! To foes alone difclos'd! Lyc. I needs muft fear them, Spite of their vows, their oaths, their imprecations. O, he will tell it all-deftruction seize him! How he'll expofe you to the public fcorn, Then the fierce Scythian-now methinks I fee Phad. Curst be his name! may infamy attend him! May fwift deftruction fall upon his hed, He Lyc. O, think not fo! for, by th' unerring gods, At that dear name fhe rear'd her drooping head, row? Let lafting infamy o'erwhelm your glory; Then hafte, conduct me to the lovely mourner. Enter Thefeus. Thef. Was that my queen, my wife, my idol Phædra? Does the still fhun me? O injurious Heaven! Lyc. Her hatred! no; fhe loves you with fuch As none but that of Thefeus e'er could equal: Yet fo the Gods have doom'd, fo Heaven will have it, She ne'er muft view her much-lov'dThefeus more. Tho' troops embattled fhould oppofe my paffage, Lyc. Is this a time for joy, when Phædra's grief- come To air, to life, to liberty, and Crete ? Lyc. Does Thefeus burn with fuch unheard-of paffion? And fhall not fhe with out-ftretch'd arms receive him, And with an equal ardour meet his vows, Why muft the bleeding heart of Thefeus bear yet who wrong'd her? Lyc. He lives, fo great, fo happy, fo belov'd, That Phædra fcarce can hope, fcarce with, revenge. Thef. Shall Thefeus live, and not revenge his Phædra? Gods! fhall this arm, renown'd for righteous ven- For quelling tyrants, and redreffing wrongs, Speak, Lycon, hafte; declare the fecret villain, Lyc. I dare not speak, but fure her wrongs are The pale cold hue that deadens all her charms, her. Thef. End her! end Thefeus first, and all man Not this I hop'd, when, urg'd by ardent love, And made me fwear to venture out no more, kind; most that villain, that detefted flave, That brutal coward, that dark lurking wretch. Lyc. O noble heat of unexampled love! This Phadra hop'd, when, in the midst of grief, In the wild torrent of o'erwhelming forrows, She groaning fill invok'd, still call'd on The feus. Thef. Did the then name me? did the weeping charmer Invoke my name, and call for aid on Thefeus? lo! that lov'd vorte upbraided my delay. Why Why then this stay? I come, I fly, O Phædra! Lyc. O! I beg you stay. Thef. What, ftay when Phædra calls? By all the gods, my lord, I beg you stay; As you refpect your peace, your life, your glory; Lyc. Your fudden prefence would furprise her foul, Renew the galling image of her wrongs, Whence then that fhocking change, that strong furprise, That fright that feiz'd him at the name of Phædra? Lyc. Was he furpris'd? that fhew'd at leaft re morfe. Thef. Remorfe! for what? by Heavens, my troubled thoughts Prefage fome dire attempts-fay, what remorfe? Lyc. I would not-yet I muft: this you command; This Phadra orders; thrice her falt'ring tongue At laft, with looks ferenely fad, fhe cried, Thef. Of love what ftrange fufpicions rack As you regard my peace, declare what love! | Who with keen hunger gorge the naked hook, Thef. Ha! am I fure fhe's wrong'd? perhaps 'tis malice. Slave, make it clear, make good your accufation, Or treble fury fhall revenge my fon. Lyc. Am I then doubted? can Phædra or your Lycon Be thought to forge fuch execrable falfehoods? Thef. Not hear my Phedra! not revenge her wrongs! Speak, make thy proofs; and then his doom 's as fix'd As when Jove nods, and high Olympus shakes, And fate his voice obcys. Lyc. Yet ftay, bear witnefs, Heaven! [fetches a fword. With what reluctance I produce this fword, This fatal proof againft th' unhappy prince, Left it should work your juftice to his ruin, And prove he aim'd at force as well as inceft. The Gods! 'tis illufion all! Is this the sword By which Procruftes, Sciron, Pallas fell ? Is this the weapon which my darling fon Swore to employ in nought but acts of honour? Now, faithful youth, thou nobly haft fulfill'd Thy gen rous promife. O moft injur'd Phædra! Why did I truft to his deceitful form? Why blame thy justice, or suspect thy truth ? # Lyc. Had you this morn beheld his ardent eyes, Seen his arm lock'd in her difhevell'd hair, That weapon glitt'ring o'er her trembling bofom, Whilft the with fcreams refus'd his impious love, Entreating death, and rifing to the wound! Lyc. Thus urg'd, I muft declare. Yet, pity-O! had you feen her, when th' affrighted youth ing Heaven! Retir'd at your approach; had you then seen her, Why must I speak ? why muft unwilling Lycon In the chafte tranfports of becoming fury, Accufe the prince of impious love to Phædra? Seize on the fword to pierce her guiltless bofom! Thef. Love to his mother! to the wife of The-Had you feen this, you could not doubt her feus ! Lyc. Yes, at the moment first he view'd her eyes, Ev'n at the altar, when you join'd your hands, His eafy heart receiv'd the guilty flame, And from that time he prefs'd her with his paffion. Thef. Then 't was for this the banish'd him from Crete; I thought it hatred all. O righteous hatred ! Forgive me, Heaven! forgive me, injur'd Phædra, That I in fecret have condemn'd thy justice. O't was all juft; and Thefeus fhall revenge, Ev'n on his fon, revenge his Phædra's wrongs. Lyc. What eafy tools are thefe blunt honeft he roes, To wrong fuch beauty and infult such goodness. Mercy! what's that? a virtue coin'd by villains, Who praise the weakness which fupports their crimes. Be mute, and fly; left, when my rage is rous'd, Thou for thyfelf in vain implore my mercy. Lyc. Dull foo!! I laugh at mercy more than thou doft, More than I do the juftice thou 'rt fo fond of. Enter Hippolitus. Thef. Yet can it be? Is this th' inceftuous villain? How great his prefence, how erect his look! Hip. May I prefume to afk, what fecret care Broods in your breaft, and clouds your royal brow? Why dart your awful eyes thofe angry beams, And fright Hippolitus they us'd to cheer? Thef. Answer me firit. When call'd to wait on Phædra, What fudden fear furpris'd your troubled foul? And keep this hated object from her fight. Hip. My lord, as yet I never gave her caufe. Thef. O were it fo! [Afide.] When laft did you attend her? Hip. When laft attend her?-O unhappy queen! Your error 's known, yet I difdain to wrong you, Or to betray a fault myfelf have caus'd. [ide. When laft attend her? Thef. Antwer me directly; Nor dare to trifle with your father's rage. Hip. My lord, this very morn I faw the queen. Hip. I afk'd permulion to retire. Hip. My lord, I humbly beg, With the moft low fubmiffions, afk no more. Thef. Yet you don't aniwer with your low fub millions. Anfwer, or never hope to fee me more. Hip. Too much he knows, I fear, without my telling; And the poor queen 's betray'd, and loft for ever [Afide. Thef. He changes, gods! and falters at the question. His fears, his words, his looks declare him guilty. [Afide. Hip. Why do you frown, my lord? why turn away As from fome loathfome monfter, not your fon? Thef. Thou art that monfter, and no more my fon. Not one of thofe of the moft horrid form, Hip. Where am I, gods: is that my father Thefeus? Am I awake? am 1 Hippolitus? Thef. Thou art that fiend, thou art Hippolitus, Thou art-O fall, O fatal ftain to honour! How had my vain imagination form'd thee! Brave as Alcides, and as Minos just. Sometimes it led me thro' the maze of war; There it furvey'd thee ranging thro' the field, Mowing down troops, and dealing out deftrue tion : |