I yield: let love, which will not be controlled,
Be conquered. Nor shalt thou, fair fame, be stained.
This way alone is left, sole hope of woe:
Theseus I'll follow, and by death shun sin.
Nurse: Oh, check, my child, this wild, impetuous thought;255
Be calm. For now I think thee worthy life,
Because thou hast condemned thyself to death.
Phaedra: I am resolved to die, and only seek
The mode of death. Shall I my spirit free
By twisted rope, or fall upon the sword,