HIPPOLYTUS
Lady, ere I go My duty bids me tell you of your change Of fortune. My worst fears are realized;
My sire is dead. Yes, his protracted absence Was caused as I foreboded. Death alone, Ending his toils, could keep him from the world Conceal'd so long. The gods at last have doom'd Alcides' friend, companion, and successor.
I think your hatred, tender to his virtues, Can hear such terms of praise without resentment, Knowing them due. One hope have I that soothes My sorrow: I can free you from restraint.
Lo, I revoke the laws whose rigour moved My pity; you are at your own disposal, Both heart and hand; here, in my heritage, In Troezen, where my grandsire Pittheus reign'd Of yore and I am now acknowledged King, I leave you free, free as myself,--and more.
ARICIA
Your kindness is too great, 'tis overwhelming.
Such generosity, that pays disgrace With honour, lends more force than you can think To those harsh laws from which you would release me.
HIPPOLYTUS
Athens, uncertain how to fill the throne Of Theseus, speaks of you, anon of me, And then of Phaedra's son.
ARICIA
Of me, my lord?
HIPPOLYTUS
I know myself excluded by strict law:
Greece turns to my reproach a foreign mother.
But if my brother were my only rival, My rights prevail o'er his clearly enough To make me careless of the law's caprice.
My forwardness is check'd by juster claims:
To you I yield my place, or, rather, own That it is yours by right, and yours the sceptre, As handed down from Earth's great son, Erechtheus.
Adoption placed it in the hands of Aegeus:
Athens, by him protected and increased, Welcomed a king so generous as my sire, And left your hapless brothers in oblivion.
Now she invites you back within her walls;
Protracted strife has cost her groans enough, Her fields are glutted with your kinsmen's blood Fatt'ning the furrows out of which it sprung At first. I rule this Troezen; while the son Of Phaedra has in Crete a rich domain.
Athens is yours. I will do all I can To join for you the votes divided now Between us.
ARICIA
Stunn'd at all I hear, my lord, I fear, I almost fear a dream deceives me.
Am I indeed awake? Can I believe Such generosity? What god has put it Into your heart? Well is the fame deserved That you enjoy! That fame falls short of truth!
Would you for me prove traitor to yourself?
Was it not boon enough never to hate me, So long to have abstain'd from harbouring The enmity--HIPPOLYTUS
To hate you? I, to hate you?
However darkly my fierce pride was painted, Do you suppose a monster gave me birth?
What savage temper, what envenom'd hatred Would not be mollified at sight of you?
Could I resist the soul-bewitching charm--ARICIA
Why, what is this, Sir?
HIPPOLYTUS
I have said too much Not to say more. Prudence in vain resists The violence of passion. I have broken Silence at last, and I must tell you now The secret that my heart can hold no longer.
You see before you an unhappy instance Of hasty pride, a prince who claims compassion I, who, so long the enemy of Love, Mock'd at his fetters and despised his captives, Who, pitying poor mortals that were shipwreck'd, In seeming safety view'd the storms from land, Now find myself to the same fate exposed, Toss'd to and fro upon a sea of troubles!
My boldness has been vanquish'd in a moment, And humbled is the pride wherein I boasted.
For nearly six months past, ashamed, despairing, Bearing where'er I go the shaft that rends My heart, I struggle vainly to be free From you and from myself; I shun you, present;
Absent, I find you near; I see your form In the dark forest depths; the shades of night, Nor less broad daylight, bring back to my view The charms that I avoid; all things conspire To make Hippolytus your slave. For fruit Of all my bootless sighs, I fail to find My former self. My bow and javelins Please me no more, my chariot is forgotten, With all the Sea God's lessons; and the woods Echo my groans instead of joyous shouts Urging my fiery steeds.
Hearing this tale Of passion so uncouth, you blush perchance At your own handiwork. With what wild words I offer you my heart, strange captive held By silken jess! But dearer in your eyes Should be the offering, that this language comes Strange to my lips; reject not vows express'd So ill, which but for you had ne'er been form'd.
