She, too, it is who in words[483] of almost equal beauty urges Phædra to yield to her passion:—
Thy love—why marvel thereat? ’Tis the tale
Of many. Wouldst thou lose thy life for love?
Good sooth! A guerdon strange, if lovers now
And evermore must meet such penalty!
Who shall withstand the Cyprian’s rising flood?
Yield to her spell: she comes in gentleness;
Make high thy pride and stand on niceties,
She flings thee pell-mell into ignominy.
Amid the sky she walks, amid the surge