what god is pulling back the reins on you

and riding your mind off its track.

Oh child.

PHAIDRA.

I am a sad one! What have I done?

Where have I gone from my own good mind?

I went mad, a god hurt me, I fell.

PHEU PHEU TLEMON! [cry]

Woman, hide my head again.

I am ashamed of my own words.

Hide me.

Tears fall

and my eye turns back for shame.

To think straight is agony.

But this madness is evil.

Best to die unaware.

NURSE.

Yes I am covering you. But when

will death cover me?

Long life teaches many things.

Mortals must measure their love for one another,

not let it cut right through to the marrow of the soul.

Keep affections of the mind flexible, I say—

easy to let them go or pull them tight.

But when one soul feels the pain of two,

as mine for hers,

what a burden.

You know strict rules of life do more harm

than giving in to pleasure—

unhealthy, they say.

Excess is your culprit.

“Nothing too much,” that’s my advice.

And wise men agree with me.

CHORUS.

Old woman, trusted Nurse of the queen,

we see Phaidra in a bad state

but no sign of the disease.

Please tell us, what is it?

NURSE.

I don’t know. She wont say.

CHORUS.

What started it?

NURSE.

Same answer. She is silent.

CHORUS.

How weak and worn her body is.

NURSE.

Well yes, three days without food.

CHORUS.

Is she in a delusion or trying to die?

NURSE.

Who knows? She doesn’t eat, she dies.

CHORUS.

Astonishing her husband approves.

NURSE.

She hides her pain, won’t say she is ill.

CHORUS.

Does he not see the proof on her face?

NURSE.

In fact he’s away from home right now.

CHORUS.

Then won’t you use force, try to find out

what is making her sick, drifting her mind?

NURSE.

I’ve tried everything! Got nowhere!

But I’m not giving up.

You can bear witness

what kind of woman I was for my mistress in trouble.

Come, dear child, let’s both forget

what we said before: you be sweeter,

clear your brow, open your mind,

and I’ll start again trying to reason with you.

Even if your illness is something unspeakable

there are women here who could help.

Or if it’s decent for men to hear,

speak up! tell a doctor!

Silent now? What use is silence?

Correct me if I’m wrong

or agree if I’m right.

Say something! Look at me! Ah,

women, our effort is futile.

We are miles off.

She was not touched, she is not persuaded.

Well, know this—stubborn as the sea!—

if you die you betray your own children.

They will get no share of their father’s house.

I swear by the horseriding Amazon queen

whose son is master of your sons—

that bastard who thinks he’s the true son,