[The palace of Theseus at Trozen, with its gates stage center.
Flanking the gates are cult statues of Artemis and Aphrodite.
Aphrodite has just appeared, told the audience that she plans to bring
about Hippolytos' death this day, and vanished.  Enter Hippolytos,
holding a wreath, with several companions, one of whom is an Old Man.
They stop before the image of Artemis.]


HIPPOLYTOS [sings, to melody of A Virgen mut groriosa by Alfonso X,
moderately and rather restrainedly, but jubilantly:]

Follow, follow, join in singing
Artemis our queen above,
Zeus' loveliest daughter, bringing
offering to her of our love.

ALL [sing:]

Flower of purity and wonder,
Zeus-begotten, heaven's pride,
loveliest light of heaven, under
whose protection we abide,

hear us, dwelling bright in pureness
in your father's golden hall;
guide us with your arrows' sureness,
loveliest goddess of them all.

HIPPOLYTOS [approaches nearer the image of Artemis:]
This plaited garland I have made to bring
to you, proud lady, from a virgin meadow,
where never shepherd dares to graze his flock,
nor iron scythe to mow, since it is virgin,
a meadow for the honey bee in spring,
and Pureness freshens it with gleaming dew;
its beauties may be culled by those alone
whose chastity remains an absolute,
a quality they've never had to learn,
since what it is, they are:  the false and mean
can never gain admittance to its light.
[puts the wreath on the image's head]
Receive this to encircle your gold hair,
a token, lady, from your worshipper,
the only man alive to whom you grant
the realness of your presence and your words:
I hear your voice, though may not see your face.
May my life run its course as I began.
OLD MAN:  Young sir – not master, that word's for the gods –
would you take my advice for your own good?
HIPPOLYTOS:  Of course I would, if I had any sense.
OLD MAN:  Well, then:  you know the way that people are?
HIPPOLYTOS:  How are they?  What exactly is your question?
OLD MAN:  When someone gets too proud, nobody likes it.
HIPPOLYTOS:  Agreed:  the proud are never popular.
OLD MAN:  But people like it when you're not stand-offish?
HIPPOLYTOS:  True:  friendliness gains friends at little cost.
OLD MAN:  How is it then you don't greet this proud goddess?
HIPPOLYTOS:  Which goddess do you mean?  But watch your tongue.
OLD MAN:  Our Aphrodite here beside the gates.
HIPPOLYTOS:  At distance I salute her, keeping pure.
OLD MAN:  Yet she is proud and much esteemed by mortals.
HIPPOLYTOS:  Everyone has their favorite gods and people.
OLD MAN:  Well, good luck then, and may good sense go with it.
HIPPOLYTOS:  I don't like gods whose rituals are at night.
OLD MAN:  Dear boy, all gods must have their due respect.
HIPPOLYTOS:  Come, followers and friends, let's go inside
and turn our minds to supper:  the dining room
is where the hunt pays off.  Rub down the horses:
when I've had food, I'll yoke them to the chariot
and give them all the exercise they need.
[to Old Man]
Please give your Aphrodite my best wishes.
[Exeunt all but Old Man into the palace]
OLD MAN:  But I myself, speaking within my station,
not copying this childish misbehavior,
will make my own prayer here before your image,
Aphrodite, Queen:  if some young hot-head
runs off at the mouth, show some indulgence
and act like you don't hear.  I'd hate to believe
the gods are just as bad as human beings.


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   Jon Corelis     www.geocities.com/jgcorelis/

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