Hip. Aye, madam!
Phæ. Hippolytus! the fearful truth will out,
My love is gained!
Hip. I hope, indeed so,—as a mother.
Phæ. aside—(How coldly doth he speak, while thro' my veins
The hot blood bounds in fierce convulsive starts.)
Not as a mother do I love thee,
But—as a woman—now my breast is free
Of the stern secret which so long hath burned
And given a fever to my very looks.