For all thine house and folk--Great Theseus, hear!
[THESEUS _stands silent in fierce gloom._
HIPPOLYTUS _comes in from the right._]

HIPPOLYTUS
Father, I heard thy cry, and sped in fear
To help thee, but I see not yet the cause
That racked thee so. Say, Father, what it was.
[_The murmurs in the crowd, the silent gloom of his Father,
and the horror of the Chorus-women gradually work on_ HIPPOLYTUS
_and bewilder him. He catches sight of the bier._]
Ah, what is that! Nay, Father, not the Queen
Dead!
[_Murmurs in the crowd._]
'Tis most strange. 'Tis passing strange, I ween.
'Twas here I left her. Scarce an hour hath run
Since here she stood and looked on this same sun.
What is it with her? Wherefore did she die?
[THESEUS _remains silent. The murmurs increase._]
Father, to thee I speak. Oh, tell me, why,
Why art thou silent? What doth silence know
Of skill to stem the bitter flood of woe?
And human hearts in sorrow crave the more,
For knowledge, though the knowledge grieve them sore.
It is not love, to veil thy sorrows in
From one most near to thee, and more than kin.

THESEUS (_to himself_)
Fond race of men, so striving and so blind,
Ten thousand arts and wisdoms can ye find,