 | Hippolitus |  |
Scena Tertia.
Theseus.The.
Oh sacred Piety! O King of Gods,
And thou who rul'st the second Lot, the floods
What rage possest this impious brat? did Greece,
Taurus or Colchian Phasis teach him this?
His deeds declare his line, and he hath shew'd
Whence he first sprung by his degenerate bloud.
Those mad Viragos marriage do despise,
And weary of their long kept Chastities
Turn Prostitutes at last. O cursed root,
Which when transplanted bears no better fruit!
Yet even they flie Incest; an innate
Shame doth keep Natures laws unviolate.
Now where's his feign'd austerity, desire
To imitate the ancients rude attire,
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O jugling life, how art thou still mistook?
The foulest soul wears the serenest face.
The Impudent doth blush, Strife seems at Peace,
Sin wears the robes of Piety, Deceit
Applaudeth truth, and the effeminate
A rigid abstinence doe counterfeit.
Thou the fierce Virgin Sylvan wert thou then
Reserv'd for this? must thy sins write thee man?
And in thy Fathers bed? now on my knees
I humbly thanke the carefull Deities
That I did kill Antiope: least thou
Had'st in my absence forc'd thy Mother too.
Fly vagabond to unknown Realms, although
Thou to the worlds remotest countries goe,
Sever'd from Earth by interposing seas;
Or shouldst thou dwell in the Antipodes,
Or hide thy self in the obscurest hole,
Beyond the Kingdoms of the Northern Pole;
The seat of snow and winter left behind,
And the cold blasts of that loud-threatning wind;
Yet, yet the sword of vengeance should thee find.
I will pursue thee every where, search places
Remote, Landlock'd, abstuce, confounding mazes,
And wayes inexplicable; and where force
Cannot arrive, Ile reach thee with a curse.
Dost thou know whence I came? great Neptune gave
Me Pow'r three times to ask what I would have,
And seald his promise by the Stygian floud,
Behold how sorrowfull a boon I wou'd.
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From his wrong'd Father to the Ghosts below.
To me thy Son a hated pitty show.
This last gift never had bin ask'd, if I
Were not oppress'd by such an injury.
When in the womb of Hel, where Dis did roar,
And threatning Pluto stormed, I forbore.
Make good thy promise now, why dost thou stay?
Why hast thou still so undisturb'd a Sea?
With wind-contracted clouds, put out the light
Of Stars, obscure the Heav'ns, and masque the night;
Pour out thy Seas, drive all thy Monsters hither,
Call from the Deep the waves retired thither.
Exit.
CHORUS.
O Nature Mother to the Gods and Jove
Who sway'st the bright Olympus, who doest move
The Stars scatterd in their swift Orbe, and force
Ev'n those wand'rers to observe a course,
And on their hinges turnst the Poles; Why art
Thou alwaies busied in the heavenly part?
Still ord'ring those Celestiall Forms? why dost
Thou take such care that now the winters frost
Sould strip the woods, and then again t' adorn,
Them with fresh shades; that now the parched corn
The rage of the hot Lion should endure,
Which the more temp'rate Autume doth mature?
But why hast thou, who these dost regulate,
And mov'st the Sphears poys'd with their proper weight
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That good the good, and ill the ill betide.
Mortals doe follow the blind-guide of chance
Whose hoodwinkt bounty doth the worst advance.
The holy perish in the crafty toils
Of lust: The Court is governed by wiles.
The people love to give the wicked pow'r,
And as soon hate whom they doe now adore.
Dejected vertue reapeth but a small
Reward for doing well; the chaste doe fall
Under the curse of want: while potent vice
Is crowned for his fam'd Adulteries.
Vain Modesty: and empty Fame!—but stay,
What doth the breathless Nuncius hast to say,
And sadly stopping, what sinister Chance
Figures he in his wofull Countenance?
| Hippolitus | |