HIPP. No one of the Gods, that is worshiped by night, delights me.
ATT. My son, we must conform to the honors of the Gods.
HIPP. Depart, my companions, and having entered the house, prepare the
viands: delightful after the chase is the full table.--And I must rub down
my horses, that having yoked them to the car, when I am satiated with the
repast, I may give them their proper exercise. But to your Venus I bid a
long farewell.
ATT. But we, for one must not imitate the young, having our thoughts such,
as it becomes slaves to give utterance to, will adore thy image, O Venus,
our mistress; but thou shouldest pardon, if any one having intense feelings
of mind by reason of his youth, speak foolishly: seem not to hear these
things, for Gods must needs be wiser than men.
CHOR. There is a rock near the ocean,[6] distilling water, which sends
forth from its precipices a flowing fountain, wherein they dip their urns;
where was a friend of mine wetting the purple vests in the dew of the
stream, and she laid them down on the back of the warm sunny cliff: from
hence first came to me the report concerning my mistress, that she, worn
with the bed of sickness, keeps her person within the house, and that fine
vests veil her auburn head. And I hear that she this day for the third
keeps her body untouched by the fruit of Ceres, [which she receives not]
into her ambrosial mouth, wishing in secret suffering to hasten to the
unhappy goal of death. For heaven-possessed, O lady, or whether by Pan, or
by Hecate, or by the venerable Corybantes, or by the mother who haunts the
mountains, thou art raving. But thou art thus tormented on account of some
fault committed against the Cretan huntress, profane because of unoffered
sacred cakes. For she goes through the sea and beyond the land on the
eddies of the watery brine. Or some one in the palace misguides thy noble
husband, the chief of the Athenians, by secret concubinage in thy bed. Or
some sailor who put from port at Crete, hath sailed to the harbor most
friendly to mariners, bringing some message to the queen; and, confined to
her couch, she is bound in soul by sorrow for its sufferings. But wretched
helplessness is wont to dwell with the wayward constitution of women, both
on account of their throes and their loss of reason. Once through my womb
shot this thrill, but I invoked the heavenly Dian, who gives easy throes,
who presides over the bow, and to me she came ever much to be blessed, as
well as the other Gods. But lo! the old nurse is bringing her out of the
palace before the gates; and the sad cloud upon her brows is increased.
What it can possibly be, my soul desires to know, with what can be
afflicted the person of the queen, of color so changed.[7]