ruit of Ceres, [which she receives not]
into her ambrosial mouth, wishing in secret suffering to hasten to the
unhappy goal of death. For heaven-possessed, O lady, or whether by Pan, or
by Hecate, or by the venerable Corybantes, or by the mother who haunts the
mountains, thou art raving. But thou art thus tormented on account of some
fault committed against the Cretan huntress, profane because of unoffered
sacred cakes. For she goes through the sea and beyond the land on the
eddies of the watery brine. Or some one in the palace misguides thy noble
husband, the chief of the Athenians, by secret concubinage in thy bed. Or
some sailor who put from port at Crete, hath sailed to the harbor most
friendly to mariners, bringing some message to the queen; and, confined to
her couch, she is bound in soul by sorrow for its sufferings. But wretched
helplessness is wont to dwell with the wayward constitution of women, both
on account of their throes and their loss of reason. Once through my womb
shot this thrill, but I invoked the heavenly Dian, who gives easy throes,
who presides over the bow, and to me she came ever much to be blessed, as
well as the other Gods. But lo! the old nurse is bringing her out of the
palace before the gates; and the sad cloud upon her brows is increased.
What it can possibly be, my soul desires to know, with what can be
afflicted the person of the queen, of color so changed.[7]

PHAEDRA, NURSE, CHORUS.

Alas! the evils of men, and their odious diseases! what shall I do for
thee? and what not do? lo! here is the clear light for thee, here the air:
and now is thy couch whereon thou liest sick removed from out of the house:
for every word you spoke was to come hither; but soon you will be in a
hurry to go to your chamber back again: for you are soon changed, and are
pleased with nothing. Nor does what is present delight you, but what is not
present you think more agreeable. It is a better thing to be sick, than to
tend the sick: the one is a simple ill, but with the other is joined both
pain of mind and toil of hands. But the whole life of men is full of grief,
nor is there rest from toils. But whatever else there be more dear than
life, darkness enveloping hides it in clouds. Hence we appear to dote on
this present state, because it gleams on earth, through inexperience of
another life, and the non-appearance of the things beneath the earth. But
we are blindly carried away by fables.

PHAE. Raise my body,