flying the pollution of the blood of Pallas’Descendants of Pandion, king of Cecropia, slain by Theseus to
 obtain the kingdom. sons, and with his wife sailed to this shore, content to suffer exile for a year, then began the wretched wife to pine away in silence, moaning ’neath love’s cruel scourge, and none of her servants knows what ails her. But this passion of hers must not fail thus. No, I will discover the matter to Theseus, and all shall be laid bare. Then will the father slay his child, my bitter foe, by curses, for the lord Poseidon granted this boon to Theseus; three wishes of the god to ask, nor ever ask in vain. So Phaedra is to die, an honoured death ’tis true, but still to die; for I will not let her suffering outweigh the payment of such forfeit by my foes as shall satisfy my honour. But lo! I see the son of Theseus coming hither—Hippolytus, fresh from the labours of the chase. I will get me hence. At his back follows a long train of retainers, in joyous cries of revelry uniting and hymns of praise to Artemis, his goddess; for little he recks that Death hath oped his gates for him, and that this is his last look upon the light.

HippolytusCome follow, friends, singing to Artemis, daughter of Zeus, throned in the sky, whose votaries we are.Attendants of HippolytusLady goddess, awful queen, daughter of Zeus, all hail! hail! child of Latona and of Zeus, peerless mid the virgin choir, who hast thy dwelling in heaven’s wide mansions at thy noble father’s court, in the golden house of Zeus.All hail! most beauteous Artemis, lovelier far than all the daughters of Olympus!Lines 70-72 are attributed to Hippolytus in the English and have been moved to correspond to the Greek.

HippolytusForSee note above on lines 70-72 thee, O mistress mine, I bring this woven wreath, culled from a virgin meadow, where nor shepherd dares to herd his flock nor ever scythe hath mown, but o’er the mead unshorn the bee doth wing its way in spring; and with the dew from rivers drawn purity that garden tends. Such as know no cunning lore, yet in whose nature self-control, made perfect, hath a home, these may pluck the flowers, but not the wicked world. Accept, I pray, dear mistress, mine this chaplet from my holy hand to crown thy locks of gold; for I, and none other of mortals, have this high guerdon, to be with thee, with thee converse, hearing thy voice, though not thy face beholding. So be it mine to end my life as I began.AttendantsMy prince! we needs must call upon the gods, our lords, so wilt thou listen to a friendly word from me?HippolytusWhy, that will I! else were I proved a fool.AttendantsDost know, then, the way of the world?HippolytusNot I; but wherefore such a question?AttendantsIt hates reserve which careth not for all men’s love.HippolytusAnd rightly too; reserve in man is ever galling.AttendantsBut there’s a charm in courteous affability?