_Chorus:_ How on the wheel of circumstance We mortals whirl! 'Gainst humble folk Does fate more gently rage, and God More lightly smites the lightly blest. 1125 A life in dim retirement spent Insures a peaceful soul; and he Who in a lowly cottage dwells May live to tranquil age at last. The mountain tops that pierce the skies, Feel all the stormy winds that blow, Fierce Eurus, Notus, and the threats Of Boreas, and Corus too, 1130 Storm bringer. The vale low lying seldom feels The thunder's stroke; but Caucasus, The huge, and the lofty Phrygian groves Of mother Cybele have felt The bolts of Jove the Thunderer. 1135 For Jupiter in jealousy Attacks the heights too near his skies; But never is the humble roof Uptorn by jealous heaven's assaults. Round mighty kings and homes of kings 1140 He thunders. The passing hour on doubtful wings Flits ever; nor may any claim Swift Fortune's pledge. Behold our king, Who sees at last the glowing stars And light of day, the gloom of hell Behind him left, a sad return 1145 Laments; for this his welcome home He finds more sorrowful by far Than dismal, dark Avernus' self. O Pallas, by the Athenian race In reverence held, that once again Thy Theseus sees the light of day, 1150 And has escaped the pools of Styx, Thou owest naught to greedy Dis; For still the number of the shades Within the infernal tyrant's power Remains the same. But why the sounds of wailing that we hear? And what would Phaedra with her naked sword? 1155 FOOTNOTES: [22] Reading, _reddit_. [23] Reading, _Argos_. [24] Reading, _haud quisquam honeste flere, quod voluit, potest_. ACT V [_Enter_ Phaedra _with a drawn sword in her hand_.] _Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: What madness pricks thee on, all wild with grief? What means that sword? or why these loud laments? Why weepest thou above the hated corpse?