any of these things to the son of Theseus.

NUR. Let be, my child, I will arrange these matters honorably, only be thou
my coadjutor, O Venus, my revered mistress; but the other things which I
purpose, it will suffice to tell to my friends within.

CHORUS, PHAEDRA.

CHOR. Love, love, O thou that instillest desire through the eyes, inspiring
sweet affection in the souls of those against whom thou makest war, mayst
thou never appear to me to my injury, nor come unmodulated: for neither is
the blast of fire nor the bolt of heaven more vehement, than that of Venus,
which Love, the boy of Jove, sends from his hands. In vain, in vain, both
by the Alpheus, and at the Pythian temples of Phoebus does Greece then
solemnize the slaughter of bulls: but Love, the tyrant of men, porter of
the dearest chambers of Venus, we worship not, the destroyer and visitant
of men in all shapes of calamity, when he comes. That virgin in Oechalia,
yoked to no bridal bed, till then unwedded, and who knew no husband, having
taken from her home a wanderer impelled by the oar, her, like some
Bacchanal of Pluto, with blood, with smoke, and murderous hymeneals did
Venus give to the son of Alcmena. O unhappy woman, because of her nuptials!
O sacred wall of Thebes, O mouth of Dirce, you can assist me in telling, in
what manner Venus comes: for by the forked lightning, by a cruel fate, did
she put to eternal sleep the parent of the Jove-begotten Bacchus, when she
was visited as a bride. For dreadful doth she breathe on all things, and
like some bee hovers about.

PHAE. Women, be silent: I am undone.

CHOR. What is there that affrights thee, Phaedra, in thine house?

PHAE. Be silent, that I may make out the voice of those within.

CHOR. I am silent: this however is an evil bodement.

PHAE. Alas me! O! O! O! oh unhappy me, because of my sufferings!

CHOR. What sound dost thou utter? what word speakest thou? tell me what
report frightens thee, lady, rushing upon thy senses!

PHAE. We are undone. Do you, standing at these gates, hear what the noise is
that strikes on the house?

CHOR. Thou art by the gate, the noise that is sent forth from the house is
thy care. But tell me, tell me, what evil, I pray thee, came _to thine
ears_?

PHAE. The son of the warlike Amazon, Hippolytus, cries out, abusing in
dreadful forms my attendant.

CHOR. I hear indeed a noise, but can not plainly tell how it is. The voice
came, it came through to the door.

PHAE.