Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/191

Rh The chains which fettered her in shame to Mars, And all our house with direful love she fills. No princess of our race has ever loved In modest wise, but always monstrously. Nurse: O wife of Theseus, glorious child of Jove, Drive from thy modest breast these shameful thoughts. Put out these flames; and give thyself no hope Of such dire love as this. Whoe'er at first Has set himself to fight and conquer love, A safe and easy victory finds. But he, Who dallies with its evil sweets, too late Refuses to endure the galling yoke Which he himself has placed upon his neck. I know full well how scornful of the truth, How harsh the swollen pride of princesses, How it refuses to be bent aright. Whatever outcome chance allots, I'll bear; For dawning freedom makes the agéd brave. To will to live uprightly nor to fall From virtue's ways is best; but next to this Is sense of shame, the knowing when to stop A sinful course. What, pray, will be the end For thee, poor mistress? Why dost heap thy house With further infamy? Wouldst thou outsin Thy mother? For thy impious love is worse Than her unnatural and monstrous love. The first you would impute to character, The last to fate. If, since thy husband sees No more the realms of earth, thou dost believe That this thy sin is safe and free from fear, Thou art in error. Grant that he is held Imprisoned fast in Lethe's lowest depths, And must forever feel the bonds of Styx: Would he, thy sire, who by his spreading sway Encroaches on the sea, who gives their laws Unto a hundred peoples, e'er permit So great a crime as this to lie unknown? Keen is a parent's watchful care. And yet, Suppose that by our craft and guile we hide