_Hippolytus:_ God in heaven, Great ruler of all gods, dost thou this sin So calmly hear, so calmly see? If now Thou hurlest not thy bolt with deadly hand, What shameful cause will ever send it forth? Let all the sky in shattered ruins fall, And hide the light of day in murky clouds. 675 Let stars turn back, and trace again their course Athwart their proper ways. And thou, great star Of stars, thou radiant Sun, let not thine eyes Behold the impious shame of this thy stock; But hide thy face, and to the darkness flee Why is thy hand, O king of gods and men, 680 Inactive? Why by forkéd lightning's brands Is not the world in flames? Direct thy bolts At me; pierce me. Let that fierce darting flame Consume me quite, for mine is all the blame. I ought to die, for I have favor found In my stepmother's eyes. [_To_ Phaedra.] Did I seem one To thee to do this vile and shameful thing? Did I seem easy fuel to thy fire, 685 I only? Has my virtuous life deserved Such estimate? Thou, worse than all thy kind! Thou woman, who hast in thy heart conceived A deed more shameful than thy mother's sin, Whose womb gave monstrous birth; thou worse than she! She stained herself with vilest lust, and long 690 Concealed the deed. But all in vain: at last, Her two-formed child revealed his mother's crime, And by his fierce bull-visage proved her guilt. Of such a womb and mother art thou born. Oh, thrice and four times blesséd is their lot Whom hate and treachery give o'er and doom 695 To death. O father, how I envy thee! Thy stepdame was the Colchian; but this, This woman is a greater curse than she. _Phaedra:_ I clearly see the destiny of my house: We follow ever what we should avoid. But I have given over self-control; I'll follow thee through fire, through raging sea, 700 O'er ragged cliffs, through roaring torrents wild-- Wherever thou dost go, in mad pursuit I shall be borne. Again, O haughty one, I fall in suppliance and embrace thy knees. _Hippolytus:_ Away from my chaste body with thy touch Impure! What more? She falls upon my breast! 705 I'll draw my sword and smite as she deserves. See, by her twisted locks, I backward bend Her shameless head. No blood more worthily Was ever spilled, O goddess of the bow, Upon thy altars. _Phaedra:_ Now, Hippolytus, 710 Thou dost fulfil the fondest wish of mine; Thou sav'st me from my madness; greater far Than all my hopes, that by the hands I love, By thine own hands, I perish ere I sin.