University of Virginia Library

Scene 1:

A vestibule in Phaedra's palace.
Leton.
How poor a thing can foil our best device!
This peevish youth escaped me by a hair,
A slender thread of accident—what then?
Shall I give up the ruin that I plot
For him and his? Not so—his fate hath slept,
But I will wake it. Jealous Acheron,
Lend me thy Furies, coupled on with speed,
Until I track him to thy jaws, whose heart
Ne'er honoured Aphrodite. Soft—Oenone! [Enter Oenone]

How fares thy mistress?

Oenone.
Ill indeed, good friend.
The hope that lifted lets her further down,
So in the pit of grief she lies and moans,
Calling the gods to end her wretched days.

Leton.
I have a medicine shall stay her ill,
A plan most fit to help her.

Oenone.
What can help
A soul so wrought? Her thoughts are turned to death.

Leton.
That suits not with my purpose—dost thou think
This boy, this innocent, shall foil my skill
Ripened in many summers? Bring me straight
To speech with her, and I shall show you both
The contest's but begun, the prize is free;
And I have arts that summon victory
From Heaven's high justice to the side I serve.

Oenone.
If thus thou counsellest truly, follow me. [Exeunt]