Common sense from the common man

Just prior to the Epilogue, the messenger has just finished his tale of Hippolytus's crash. He then appends his own opinion that the boy was never guilty of what he stood accused of:

I am, I know, a slave of your house, my lord, [1250] but I shall never have the strength to believe that your son was guilty, not even if the whole female sex should hang themselves and fill with writing all the pine-wood that grows upon Mount Ida. For I know that he was good.

Structurally this advice to a lord from a servant echoes the advice in scene 1, when Hippolytus is advised in a curiously Socratic manner to give Aphrodite her due.

Servant
Lord [ἄναξ]—for it is as gods that one should address one's masters—would you take a piece of good advice from me?
Hippolytus
[90] Most certainly. Else I should not seem wise [σοφοὶ].
Servant
The rule observed by mortals—do you know it?
Hippolytus
No. What is the law you question me about?
Servant
To hate what's haughty [σεμνὸν] and not friend to all.

Hippolytus
And rightly. Who that's haughty gives no pain?
Servant
[95] And is there charm in affability? [εὐπροσήγορος]
Hippolytus
Yes, much, and profit too with little toil.
Servant
Do you think the same is true among the gods?
Hippolytus
Yes, if we humans follow heavenly usage.

Epidaurus 

Servant
How then no word for a high and mighty [σεμνὴν] goddess?

Hippolytus
[100] Which? Careful lest your tongue commit some slip. [σφαλῇ] 
Servant
pointing to the statue of Aphrodite
The goddess here, who stands beside your gate.
Hippolytus
I greet her from afar, for I am pure [ἁγνὸς].

Servant
Yet she's revered [σεμνή] and famous among mortals.

Hippolytus
I do not like a god worshipped at night.
Servant
[107] My son, to honor the gods is only just.
Hippolytus
Men have their likes, in gods and men alike.
Servant
I wish you fortune—and the good sense [νοῦν] you need!

Hippolytus then gives some commands to his servants and blithely bids Aphrodite goodbye:

Hippolytus 

As for your Aphrodite, I bid her a very good day!

The servant then turns to the statue and -- this might have occasioned some levity in the audience -- offers the goddess another dollop of his free advice:

χρὴ δὲ συγγνώμην ἔχειν:
εἴ τίς σ᾽ ὑφ᾽ ἥβης σπλάγχνον ἔντονον φέρων
μάταια βάζει, μὴ δόκει τούτων κλύειν.
120σοφωτέρους γὰρ χρὴ βροτῶν εἶναι θεούς.

You should be forgiving: if youth makes someone's heart stiff with pride and he utters folly, pretend not to hear him. [120] For gods should be wiser than mortals.

Marvelously, forbearance tiptoes in. The word the servant uses is συγγνώμην -- leniency, allowance, fellow-feelingful judgment, shared mind.  It's the very word Artemis will use when she speaks that crucial line to the crushed Theseus in the Epilogue:

δείν᾽ ἔπραξας, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως
ἔτ᾽ ἔστι καί σοι τῶνδε συγγνώμης τυχεῖν: (1326-27)

You have done dreadful deeds, but for all that it is still possible for you to win pardon for these things. 

The Servant and the Messenger speak up, just as the Nurse did -- Euripides clearly wasn't a hard and fast believer in an aristocracy of common sense.

I have another point jumping off from here, but this post is long enough. Another will follow.