Pressed on my brain in many a confused shape,
All bearing one image, and that image thine,
I have striven, wrestled, fought against this love,
But all in vain.
Hip. I scarcely dare believe mine ears, a dream
Seems on me, like a man in sleep,
A mass of dim confusion gathers round me;
Am I indeed Hippolytus, and art thou Phædra?
Phæ. I am thy Phædra! Theseus has my hand,
But thou, Hippolytus, thou hast my heart.