HIP POLYTUS
And poise the Thessalian javelin drawing it back—
here where my fair hair hangs above the ear— 220
I would hold in my hand a spear with a steel point.
Nurse
What ails you, child? What is this love of hunting,
and you a lady! Draught of fresh spring water!
Here, beside the tower there is a sloping ridge 225
with springs enough to satisfy your thirst.
Phaedra
Artemis, mistress of the Salty Lake,
mistress of the ring echoing to the racers' hoofs,
if only I could gallop your level stretches, 230
and break Venetian colts!
Nurse
This is sheer madness,
that prompts such whirling, frenzied, senseless words.
Here at one moment you're afire with longing
to hunt wild beasts and you'd go to the hills,
and then again all your desire is horses,
horses on the sands beyond the reach of the breakers. 235
Indeed, it would need to be a mighty prophet
to tell which of the Gods mischievously
jerks you from your true course and thwarts your wits!
Phaedra
O, I am miserable! What is this IVe done?
Where have I strayed from the highway of good sense? 240
I was mad. It was the madness sent from some God
that caused my fall.
I am unhappy, so unhappy! Nurse,
cover my face again. I am ashamed 245
of what I said. Cover me up. The tears
are flowing, and my face is turned to shame.
Rightness of judgment is bitterness to the heart.
Madness is terrible. It is better then
that I should die and know no more of anything..