And for that dark spell that about her clings,
Sick desires of forbidden things
The soul of her rend and sever;
The bitter tide of calamity
Hath risen above her lips; and she,
Where bends she her last endeavour?
She will hie her alone to her bridal room,
And a rope swing slow in the rafters' gloom;
And a fair white neck shall creep to the noose,
A-shudder with dread, yet firm to choose
The one strait way for fame, and lose
The Love and the pain for ever.

[_The Voice of the_ NURSE _is heard from within, crying,
at first inarticulately, then clearly_.]

VOICE
Help ho! The Queen! Help, whoso hearkeneth!
Help! Theseus' spouse caught in a noose of death!

A WOMAN
God, is it so soon finished? That bright head
Swinging beneath the rafters! Phaedra dead!

VOICE
O haste! This knot about her throat is made
So fast! Will no one bring me a swift blade?

A WOMAN
Say, friends, what think ye? Should we haste within,