Hippolytus (425-465)

the stoutest heart to slavishness. This alone, men say, can stand the buffets of life’s battle, a just and virtuous soul in whomsoever found. For time unmasks the villain sooner or later, holding up to them a mirror as to some blooming maid.

’Mongst such may I be never seen!

Now look! how fair is chastity however viewed, whose fruit is good repute amongst men.

My queen, ’tis true thy tale of woe, but lately told, did for the moment strike me with wild alarm,

but now I do reflect upon my foolishness; second thoughts are often best even with men. Thy fate is no uncommon one nor past one’s calculations; thou art stricken by the passion Cypris sends. Thou art in love; what wonder? so are many more.

Wilt thou, because thou lov’st, destroy thyself? ’Tis little gain, I trow, for those who love or yet may love their fellows, if death must be their end; for though the Love-Queen’s onset in her might is more than man can bear, yet doth she gently visit yielding hearts,

and only when she finds a proud unnatural spirit, doth she take and mock it past belief. Her path is in the sky, and mid the ocean’s surge she rides; from her all nature springs; she sows the seeds of love, inspires the warm desire

to which we sons of earth all owe our being. They who have aught to do with books of ancient scribes, or themselves engage in studious pursuits, know how Zeus of Semele was enamoured,

how the bright-eyed goddess of the Dawn once stole Cephalus to dwell in heaven for the love she bore him; yet these in heaven abide nor shun the gods’ approach, content, I trow, to yield to their misfortune.

Wilt thou refuse to yield? thy sire, it seems, should have begotten thee on special terms

or with different gods for masters, if in these laws thou wilt not acquiesce. How many, prithee, men of sterling sense, when they see their wives unfaithful, make as though they saw it not? How many fathers, when their sons have gone astray,

assist them in their amours? ’tis part of human wisdom to conceal the deed of shame. Nor should man aim at excessive refinement in his life; for[*] they cannot with exactness finish