Leader: Alas! new troubles come to plague us, nor is there any escape
from fate and necessity.
Theseus: My hatred for him who hath thus suffered made me glad at
thy tidings, yet from regard for the gods and him, because he is my
son, I feel neither joy nor sorrow at his sufferings.
Messenger: But say, are we to bring the victim hither, or how are
we to fulfil thy wishes? Bethink thee; if by me thou wilt be schooled,
thou wilt not harshly treat thy son in his sad plight.
Theseus: Bring him hither, that when I see him face to face, who hath
denied having polluted my wife's honour, I may by words and heaven's
visitation convict him. (The Messenger departs.)
Chorus: (singing) Ah! Cypris, thine the hand that guides the stubborn
hearts of gods and men; thine, and that attendant boy's, who, with
painted plumage gay, flutters round his victims on lightning wing.
O'er the land and booming deep on golden pinion borne flits the god
of Love, maddening the heart and beguiling the senses of all whom
he attacks, savage whelps on mountains bred, ocean's monsters, creatures
of this sun-warmed earth, and man; thine, O Cypris, thine alone the
sovereign power to rule them all. (Artemis appears above.)