Four Tragedies and Octavia by Séneca

alien lord,
    To spend my days in tears and wretchedness?
    Where is my lord? Away – that is how Theseus
    Observes his marriage vows – on a bold venture
    Through the deep darkness of the underworld
    From which no man returns, comrade in arms
    To an audacious suitor who will steal
    And carry off a bride straight from the throne
    Of the King of Death. So Theseus follows him,
    Partner in his mad escapade; no fear,
    No shame, deters him. Lust and lawless marriage
    In hell Hippolytus’s father seeks.
    Â Â Â But I have other, greater pain to bear;
    No rest at night, no balm of sleep relieves
    My troubled soul. It thrives and grows – my pain
    Burns in me like the burning heart of Etna.
    My loom stands still, the wool drops from my hands;
    I have no heart to make my offerings
    At the gods’ temples, or to take my place
    Among the dances of the Attic women
    Torch-bearing in dark rites around their altars.
    I cannot make pure prayers or honest vows
    To their presiding goddess, to whose care
    This land was given. I take pleasure now
    In following the hunt, starting wild game,
    A strong spear in this tender hand. Why, why,
    My soul? What does it mean? What is this passion
    For woods and fields? Is this the evil spell
    That bound my mother, my unhappy mother?…
    Our love has gone astray in the woods…. O mother,
    I feel for you. I know how you were forced
    By monstrous doom into audacious love
    For that brute beast, bull of a roaming herd;
    An angry beast, untamed and lecherous,
    His wild mates all obeyed him – yet he loved.
    What god will pity me? Where is a Daedalus
    To find a cure for my complaint? That craftsman,
    Master of Attic arts, who built a prison
    To hold our Cretan monster in seclusion,
    Could not, if he were here, do anything
    To lighten my distress. This comes from Venus;
    She hates all children of her enemy
    The Sun, 1 and now through us she takes revenge
    For what was done to her – the chains that bound her
    In the arms of Mars; on all the tribe of Phoebus
    She lays a load of shame. Love lies not lightly
    On any daughter of the house of Minos;
    We know no love that is not bound to sin.
    NURSE : Nay, noble wife of Theseus, child of Jove,
    Cleanse your pure heart at once of such vile thoughts;
    Smother the flame and give no countenance
    To evil hopes. Stand up to Love and rout him
    At the first assault, that is the surest way
    To win without a fall; once humour him,
    Cherish the pleasant bane – ’twill be too late
    Then to refuse the yoke you have accepted.
    I am not blind, I know how royal pride,
    Stubborn, and deaf to truth, abhors correction.
    I am ready for my end, whate’er it be;
    The old have courage, freedom is near for them.
    To choose the good is the first rule of life,
    And not to falter on the way; next best
    Is to have shame and know where sin must stop.
    Why, my poor mistress, why are you resolved
    To heap fresh infamy upon your house,
    With sin worse than your mother’s? Wilful sin
    Is a worse evil than unnatural passion;
    That comes by fate, but sin comes from our nature.
    You think, because your husband’s eyes are closed
    To all this upper world, that you are free
    To sin without fear? No, you are mistaken;
    Though Theseus may be safely out of sight
    In Lethe’s depths, walking the shores of Styx,
    Perhaps for ever – what of him who rules
    The hundred cities and the wide sea roads,
    Your father? Will he let such sin be hidden?
    Parents are watchful, and their care is wise.
    And even if we do conceal your crime,
    By our devices, from all human eyes,
    There is your mother’s father, He above
    Who sheds his light upon the earth; and He,
    Father of all the gods, who shakes the world
    With hail of fiery bolts from his bright hand.
    Will you believe that you can do this thing
    Out of the sight of your all-seeing grandsires?
    Again, let us suppose the good gods choose
    To hide forbidden love; let us suppose
    They lend to lawless