Racine: Phaedra

LIFE A DREAM 251
Clotaldo.—Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you
Your visionary honor M'ore so ill
As to work murder and revenge on those
Who meant you well.
Segismund.— Who meant me !—me !
Chain'd like a felon
Clotaldo.— Stay, stay—Not so fast,
You dream'd the Prince, remember.
Segismund.— Then in dream
Revenged it only.
Clotaldo.—True. But as they say
Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul
Yet uncorrected of the higher Will,
So that men sometimes in their dreams confess
An unsuspected, or forgotten, self
One must beware to check—^ay, if one may,
Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves
As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep,
And ill reacts upon the waking day.
And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund,
Between such swearable realities
Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin
In missing each that salutary rein
Of reason, and the guiding will of man
One test, I think, of waking sanity
their Prince
Shall be that conscious power of self-control,
To curb all passion, but much most of all
That evil and vindictive, that ill squares
With human, and with holy canon less,
Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies,
And much more those who, out of no ill will,
Mistakenly have taken up the rod
Which heav'n, they think, has put into their hands.
Segismund.— I think I soon shall have to try again
Sleep has not yet done with me.
Clotaldo.— Such a sleep.
Take my advice — 'tis early yet—the sun
Scarce up above the mountain ; go within.
And if the night deceived you, try anew
With morning; morning dreams they say come true.