Part 9 (2/2)

ARTEMIS Sore-stricken man, bethink thee in this stress, Thou dost but die for thine own n.o.bleness.

HIPPOLYTUS Ah!

O breath of heavenly fragrance! Though my pain Burns, I can feel thee and find rest again.

The G.o.ddess Artemis is with me here.

ARTEMIS With thee and loving thee, poor sufferer!

HIPPOLYTUS Dost see me, Mistress, nearing my last sleep?

ARTEMIS Aye, and would weep for thee, if G.o.ds could weep.

HIPPOLYTUS Who now shall hunt with thee or hold thy quiver?

ARTEMIS He dies but my love cleaves to him for ever.

HIPPOLYTUS Who guide thy chariot, keep thy shrine-flowers fresh?

ARTEMIS The accursed Cyprian caught him in her mes.h.!.+

HIPPOLYTUS The Cyprian? Now I see it!--Aye, 'twas she.

ARTEMIS She missed her wors.h.i.+p, loathed thy chast.i.ty!

HIPPOLYTUS Three lives by her one hand! 'Tis all clear now.

ARTEMIS Yea, three; thy father and his Queen and thou.

HIPPOLYTUS My father; yea, he too is pitiable!

ARTEMIS A plotting G.o.ddess tripped him, and he fell.

HIPPOLYTUS Father, where art thou? ... Oh, thou sufferest sore!

THESEUS Even unto death, child. There is joy no more.

HIPPOLYTUS I pity thee in this coil; aye, more than me.

THESEUS Would I could lie there dead instead of thee!

HIPPOLYTUS Oh, bitter bounty of Poseidon's love!

THESEUS Would G.o.d my lips had never breathed thereof!

HIPPOLYTUS (_gently_) Nay, thine own rage had slain me then, some wise!

THESEUS A lying spirit had made blind mine eyes!

HIPPOLYTUS Ah me!

Would that a mortal's curse could reach to G.o.d!

ARTEMIS Let be! For not, though deep beneath the sod Thou liest, not unrequited nor unsung Shall this fell stroke, from Cypris' rancour sprung, Quell thee, mine own, the saintly and the true!

My hand shall win its vengeance through and through, Piercing with flawless shaft what heart soe'er Of all men living is most dear to Her.

Yea, and to thee, for this sore travail's sake, Honours most high in Trozen will I make; For yokeless maids before their bridal night Shall shear for thee their tresses; and a rite Of honouring tears be thine in ceaseless store; And virgin's thoughts in music evermore Turn toward thee, and praise thee in the Song Of Phaedra's far-famed love and thy great wrong.

O seed of ancient Aegeus, bend thee now And clasp thy son. Aye, hold and fear not thou!

Not knowingly hast thou slain him; and man's way, When G.o.ds send error, needs must fall astray.

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