Yet liefer were I dead than framed like thee.

_Others_
Woe, woe to me for this thy bitter bane,
Surely the food man feeds upon is pain!

_Others_
How wilt thou bear thee through this livelong day,
Lost, and thine evil naked to the light?
Strange things are close upon us--who shall say
How strange?--save one thing that is plain to sight,
The stroke of the Cyprian and the fall thereof
On thee, thou child of the Isle of fearful Love!

[PHAEDRA _during this has risen from the couch and comes forward
collectedly. As she speaks the_ NURSE _gradually rouses herself,
and listens more calmly._]

PHAEDRA
O Women, dwellers in this portal-seat
Of Pelops' land, gazing towards my Crete,
How oft, in other days than these, have I
Through night's long hours thought of man's misery,
And how this life is wrecked! And, to mine eyes,
Not in man's knowledge, not in wisdom, lies
The lack that makes for sorrow. Nay, we scan
And know the right--for wit hath many a man--
But will not to the last end strive and serve.
For some grow too soon weary, and some swerve
To other paths, setting before the Right