Nurse There now! thou art thyself again, but e’en yet refusest to aid thy children and preserve thy life.
Phaedra My babes I love, but there is another storm that buffets me.
Nurse Daughter, are thy hands from bloodshed pure?
Phaedra My hands are pure, but on my soul there rests a stain.
Nurse The issue of some enemy’s secret witchery?
Phaedra A friend is my destroyer, one unwilling as myself.
Nurse Hath Theseus wronged thee in any wise?
Phaedra Never may I prove untrue to him
Nurse Then what strange mystery is there that drives thee on to die?
Phaedra O, let my sin and me alone! ’tis not ’gainst thee I sin.
Nurse Never willingly! and, if I fail, ’twill rest at thy door.
Phaedra How now? thou usest force in clinging to my hand.
Nurse Yea, and I will never loose my hold upon thy knees.
Phaedra Alas for thee! my sorrows, shouldst thou learn them, would recoil on thee.
Nurse What keener grief for me than failing to win thee?
Phaedra ’Twill be death to thee; though to me that brings renown.
Nurse And dost thou then conceal this boon despite my prayers?
Phaedra I do, for ’tis out of shame I am planning an honourable escape.
Nurse Tell it, and thine honour shall the brighter shine.
Phaedra Away, I do conjure thee; loose my hand.
Nurse I will not, for the boon thou shouldst have granted me is denied.
Phaedra I will grant it out of reverence for thy holy suppliant touch.
Nurse Henceforth I hold my peace; ’tis thine to speak from now.
Phaedra Ah! hapless mother, what a love was thine!
Nurse Her love for the bull? daughter, or what meanest thou?
Phaedra And woe to thee! my sister, bride of Dionysus.
Nurse What ails thee, child? speaking ill of kith and kin.
Phaedra Myself the third to suffer! how am I undone!
Nurse Thou strik’st me dumb! Where will this history end?
Phaedra That love has been our curse from time long past.
Nurse I know no more of what I fain would learn.
Phaedra Ah! would thou couldst say for me what I have to tell.
Nurse I am no prophetess to unriddle secrets.
Phaedra What is it they mean when they talk of people being in love?
Nurse At once the sweetest and the bitterest thing, my child.
Phaedra I shall only find the latter half.
Nurse Ha! my child, art thou in love?
Phaedra The Amazon’s son, whoever he may be,—
Nurse Mean’st thou Hippolytus?
Phaedra ’Twas thou, not I, that spoke his name.
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