Contents
-BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Dramatis Personæ
Euripides (480 or 485–406 B.C.). Hippolytus.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Lines 400–799
But will not to the last end strive and serve.For some grow too soon weary, and some swerveTo other paths, setting before the RightThe diverse far-off image of Delight:And many are delights beneath the sun!Long hours of converse; and to sit aloneMusing—a deadly happiness!—and Shame:Though two things there he hidden in one name,And Shame can be slow poison if it will;This is the truth I saw then, and see still;Nor is there any magic that can stainThat white truth for me, or make me blind again.Come, I will show thee how my spirit hath moved.When the first stab came, and I knew I loved,I cast about how best to face mine ill.And the first thought that came, was to be stillAnd hide my sickness.—For no trust there isIn man’s tongue, that so well admonishesAnd counsels and betrays, and waxes fatWith griefs of its own gathering!—After thatI would my madness bravely bear, and tryTo conquer by mine own heart’s purity.My third mind, when these two availed me naughtTo quell love was to die—[Motion of protest among the Women.—the best, best thought——Gainsay me not—of all that man can say!I would not have mine honour hidden away;Why should I have my shame before men’s eyesKept living? And I knew, in deadly wise,Shame was the deed and shame the suffering;And I a woman, too, to face the thing,Despised of all!Oh, utterly accurstBe she of women, whoso dared the firstTo cast her honour out to a strange man!’Twas in some great house, surely, that beganThis plague upon us; then the baser kind,When the good led towards evil, followed blindAnd joyous! Cursed be they whose lips are cleanAnd wise and seemly, but their hearts withinRank with bad daring! How can they, O ThouThat walkest on the waves, great Cyprian, howSmile in their husbands’ faces, and not fall,Not cower before the Darkness that knows all,Aye, dread the dead still chambers, lest one dayThe stones find voice, and all be finished!Nay,Friends, ’tis for this I die; lest I stand thereHaving shamed my husband and the babes I bare,In ancient Athens they shall some day dwell,My babes, free men, free-spoken, honourable,And when one asks their mother, proud of me!For, oh, it cows a man, though bold he be,To know a mother’s or a father’s sin.’Tis written, one way is there, one, to winThis life’s race, could man keep it from his birth,A true clean spirit. And through all this earthTo every false man, that hour comes apaceWhen Time holds up a mirror to his face,And girl-like, marvelling, there he stares to seeHow foul his heart! Be it not so with me!LEADER OF CHORUS
Ah, God, bow sweet is virtue, and how wise,And honour its due meed in all men’s eyes!NURSE (who has now risen and recovered herself)
Mistress, a sharp swift terror struck me lowA moment since, hearing of this thy woe,But now—I was a coward! And men sayOur second thought the wiser is alway.This is no monstrous thing; no grief too direTo meet with quiet thinking. In her ireA most strong goddess bath swept down on thee.Thou lovest. Is that so strange? Many there beBeside thee!… And because thou lovest, wilt fallAnd die! And must all lovers die, then? AllThat are or shall be? A blithe law for them!Nay, when in might she swoops, no strength can stemCypris; and if man yields him, she is sweet;But is he proud and stubborn? From his feetShe lifts him, and—how think you?—flings to scorn!She ranges with the stars of eve and morn,She wanders in the heaving of the sea,And all life lives from her.—Aye, this is sheThat sows Love’s seed and brings Love’s fruit to birth;And great Love’s brethren are all we on earth!Nay, they who con grey books of ancient daysOr dwell among the Muses, tell—and praise—How Zeus himself once yearned for Semelê;How maiden Eôs in her radiancySwept Kephalos to heaven away, away,For sore love’s sake. And there they dwell, men say,And fear not, fret not; for a thing too sternHath met and crushed them!And must thou, then, turnAnd struggle? Sprang there from thy father’s bloodThy little soul all lonely? Or the godThat rules thee, is he other than our gods?Nay, yield thee to men’s ways, and kiss their rods!How many, deem’st thou, of men good and wiseKnow their own home’s blot, and avert their eyes?How many fathers, when a son has strayedAnd toiled beneath the Cyprian, bring him aid,Not chiding? And man’s wisdom e’er hath beenTo keep what is not good to see, unseen!A straight and perfect life is not for man;Nay, in a shut house, let him, if he can,’Mid sheltered rooms, make all lines true. But here,Out in the wide sea fallen, and full of fear,Hopest thou so easily to swim to land?Canst thou but set thine ill days on one handAnd more good days on the other, verily,O child of woman, life is well with thee