PHAEDRA That love Will last for ever. Even while I speak, Ah, fatal thought, they laugh to scorn the madness Of my distracted heart. In spite of exile That soon must part them, with a thousand oaths They seal yet closer union. Can I suffer A happiness, Oenone, which insults me? I crave your pity. She must be destroy'd. My husband's wrath against a hateful stock Shall be revived, nor must the punishment Be light: the sister's guilt passes the brothers'. I will entreat him in my jealous rage. What am I saying? Have I lost my senses? Is Phaedra jealous, and will she implore Theseus for help? My husband lives, and yet I burn. For whom? Whose heart is this I claim As mine? At every word I say, my hair Stands up with horror. Guilt henceforth has pass'd All bounds. Hypocrisy and incest breathe At once thro' all. My murderous hands are ready To spill the blood of guileless innocence. Do I yet live, wretch that I am, and dare To face this holy Sun from whom I spring? My father's sire was king of all the gods; My ancestors fill all the universe. Where can I hide? In the dark realms of Pluto? But there my father holds the fatal urn; His hand awards th' irrevocable doom: Minos is judge of all the ghosts in hell. Ah! how his awful shade will start and shudder When he shall see his daughter brought before him, Forced to confess sins of such varied dye, Crimes it may be unknown to hell itself! What wilt thou say, my father, at a sight So dire? I think I see thee drop the urn, And, seeking some unheard-of punishment, Thyself become my executioner. Spare me! A cruel goddess has destroy'd Thy race; and in my madness recognize Her wrath. Alas! My aching heart has reap'd No fruit of pleasure from the frightful crime The shame of which pursues me to the grave, And ends in torment life-long misery. OENONE Ah, Madam, pray dismiss a groundless dread: Look less severely on a venial error. You love. We cannot conquer destiny. You were drawn on as by a fatal charm. Is that a marvel without precedent Among us? Has love triumph'd over you, And o'er none else? Weakness is natural To man. A mortal, to a mortal's lot Submit. You chafe against a yoke that others Have long since borne. The dwellers in Olympus, The gods themselves, who terrify with threats The sins of men, have burn'd with lawless fires.