But if some impious plea I made to them,
How ready would they be to grant my prayer!
Chorus: Theseus, thou hast unending time to mourn.
Now pay the funeral honors due thy son,1245
And bury these poor torn and scattered limbs.
Theseus: Then hither bring the pitiful remains
Of that dear corpse, and heap together here
That shapeless mass of flesh, those mangled limbs.
Is this Hippolytus? I realize
My depth of crime, for I have murdered thee.1250