Nurse: O wife of Theseus, glorious child of Jove, Drive from thy modest breast these shameful thoughts. • 130 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 • 135 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 • 140 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 • 145 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