{"id":26,"date":"2017-06-24T20:36:19","date_gmt":"2017-06-24T20:36:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/the-medea-of-euripides-ii\/"},"modified":"2017-07-05T21:40:20","modified_gmt":"2017-07-05T21:40:20","slug":"the-medea-of-euripides-ii","status":"web-only","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/the-medea-of-euripides-ii\/","title":{"raw":"The Medea of Euripides II","rendered":"The Medea of Euripides II"},"content":{"raw":"

Creon<\/h3>\r\n
Thou woman sullen-eyed and hot with hate\r\nAgainst thy lord, Medea, I here command\r\nThat thou and thy two children from this land\r\nGo forth to banishment. Make no delay:\r\nSeeing ourselves, the King, are come this day\r\nTo see our charge fulfilled; nor shall again\r\nLook homeward ere we have led thy children twain\r\nAnd thee beyond our realm's last boundary.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Lost! Lost!\r\nMine haters at the helm with sail flung free\r\nPursuing; and for us no beach nor shore\r\nIn the endless waters! . . . Yet, though stricken sore,\r\nI still will ask thee, for what crime, what thing\r\nUnlawful, wilt thou cast me out, O King?<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
What crime? I fear thee, woman\u2014little need\r\nTo cloak my reasons\u2014lest thou work some deed\r\nOf darkness on my child. And in that fear\r\nReasons enough have part. Thou comest here\r\nA wise-woman confessed, and full of lore\r\nIn unknown ways of evil. Thou art sore\r\nIn heart, being parted from thy lover's arms.\r\nAnd more, thou hast made menace . . . so the alarms\r\nBut now have reached mine ear . . . on bride and groom,\r\nAnd him who gave the bride, to work thy doom\r\nOf vengeance. Which, ere yet it be too late,\r\nI sweep aside. I choose to earn thine hate\r\nOf set will now, not palter with the mood\r\nOf mercy, and hereafter weep in blood.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
'Tis not the first nor second time, O King,\r\nThat fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to bring\r\nMy ruin. . . . How can any man, whose eyes\r\nAre wholesome, seek to rear his children wise\r\nBeyond men's wont? Much helplessness in arts\r\nOf common life, and in their townsmen's hearts\r\nEnvy deep-set . . . so much their learning brings!\r\nCome unto fools with knowledge of new things,\r\nThey deem it vanity, not knowledge. Aye,\r\nAnd men that erst for wisdom were held high,\r\nFeel thee a thorn to fret them, privily\r\nHeld higher than they. So hath it been with me.\r\nA wise-woman I am; and for that sin\r\nTo divers ill names men would pen me in;\r\nA seed of strife; an eastern dreamer; one\r\nOf brand not theirs; one hard to play upon . . .\r\nAh, I am not so wondrous wise!\u2014And now,\r\nTo thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou?\r\nWhat dire deed? Do I tread so proud a path\u2014\r\nFear me not thou!\u2014that I should brave the wrath\r\nOf princes? Thou: what has thou ever done\r\nTo wrong me? Granted thine own child to one\r\nWhom thy soul chose.\u2014Ah, him<\/i> out of my heart\r\nI hate; but thou, meseems, hast done thy part\r\nNot ill. And for thine houses' happiness\r\nI hold no grudge. Go: marry, and God bless\r\nYour issues. Only suffer me to rest\r\nSomewhere within this land. Though sore oppressed,\r\nI will be still, knowing mine own defeat.<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Thy words be gentle: but I fear me yet\r\nLest even now there creep some wickedness\r\nDeep hid within thee. And for that the less\r\nI trust thee now than ere these words began.\r\nA woman quick of wrath, aye, or a man,\r\nIs easier watching than the cold and still.\r\nUp, straight, and find thy road! Mock not my will\r\nWith words. This doom is passed beyond recall;\r\nNor all thy crafts shall help thee, being withal\r\nMy manifest foe, to linger at my side.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n

(suddenly throwing herself down and clinging to<\/i> Creon<\/span>)<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Oh, by thy knees! By that new-wedded bride . . .<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
'Tis waste of words. Thou shalt not weaken me.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Wilt hunt me? Spurn me when I kneel to thee?<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
'Tis mine own house that kneels to me, not thou.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Home, my lost home, how I desire thee now!<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
And I mine, and my child, beyond all things.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
O Loves of man, what curse is on your wings!<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Blessing or curse, 'tis as their chances flow.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Remember, Zeus, the cause of all this woe!<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Oh, rid me of my pains! Up, get thee gone!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
What would I with thy pains? I have mine own.<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Up: or, 'fore God, my soldiers here shall fling . . .<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Not that! Not that! . . . I do but pray, O King . . .<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Thou wilt not? I must face the harsher task?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
I accept mine exile. 'Tis not that I ask.<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Why then so wild? Why clinging to mine hand?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n

(rising<\/i>)<\/p>\r\n\r\n

For one day only leave me in thy land\r\nAt peace, to find some counsel, ere the strain\r\nOf exile fall, some comfort for these twain,\r\nMine innocents; since others take no thought,\r\nIt seems, to save the babes that they begot.\r\nAh! Thou wilt pity them! Thou also art\r\nA father: thou hast somewhere still a heart\r\nThat feels. . . . I reck not of myself: 'tis they\r\nThat break me, fallen upon so dire a day.<\/div>\r\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Mine is no tyrant's mood. Aye, many a time\r\nEre this my tenderness hath marred the chime\r\nOf wisest counsels. And I know that now\r\nI do mere folly. But so be it! Thou\r\nShalt have this grace . . . But this I warn thee clear,\r\nIf once the morrow's sunlight find thee here\r\nWithin my borders, thee or child of thine,\r\nThou diest! . . . Of this judgment not a line\r\n<\/a>Shall waver nor abate. So linger on,\r\nIf thou needs must, till the next risen sun;\r\nNo further. . . . In one day there scarce can be\r\nThose perils wrought whose dread yet haunteth me.<\/div>\r\n

[Exit<\/i> Creon<\/span> with his suite<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
O woman, woman of sorrow,\r\nWhere wilt thou turn and flee?\r\nWhat town shall be thine to-morrow,\r\nWhat land of all lands that be,\r\nWhat door of a strange man's home?\r\nYea, God hath hunted thee,\r\nMedea, forth to the foam\r\nOf a trackless sea.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Defeat on every side; what else?\u2014But Oh,\r\nNot here the end is: think it not! I know\r\nFor bride and groom one battle yet untried,\r\nAnd goodly pains for him that gave the bride.\r\nDost dream I would have grovelled to this man,\r\nSave that I won mine end, and shaped my plan\r\nFor merry deeds? My lips had never deigned\r\nSpeak word with him: my flesh been never stained\r\nWith touching. . . . Fool, Oh, triple fool! It lay\r\nSo plain for him to kill my whole essay\r\nBy exile swift: and, lo, he sets me free\r\nThis one long day: wherein mine haters three\r\nShall lie here dead, the father and the bride\r\nAnd husband\u2014mine, not hers! Oh, I have tried\r\nSo many thoughts of murder to my turn,\r\nI know not which best likes me. Shall I burn\r\nTheir house with fire? Or stealing past unseen\r\nTo Jason's bed\u2014I have a blade made keen\r\nFor that\u2014stab, breast to breast, that wedded pair?\r\nGood, but for one thing. When I am taken there,\r\nAnd killed, they will laugh loud who hate me. . . .\r\nNay,\r\nI love the old way best, the simple way\r\nOf poison, where we too are strong as men.\r\nAh me!\r\nAnd they being dead\u2014what place shall hold me then?\r\nWhat friend shall rise, with land inviolate\r\nAnd trusty doors, to shelter from their hate\r\nThis flesh? . . . None anywhere! . . . A little more\r\nI needs must wait: and, if there ope some door\r\nOf refuge, some strong tower to shield me, good:\r\nIn craft and darkness I will hunt this blood.\r\nElse, if mine hour be come and no hope nigh,\r\nThen sword in hand, full-willed and sure to die,\r\nI yet will live to slay them. I will wend\r\nMan-like, their road of daring to the end.\r\nSo help me She who of all Gods hath been\r\nThe best to me, of all my chosen queen\r\nAnd helpmate, Hecat\u00ea, who dwells apart,\r\nThe flame of flame, in my fire's inmost heart:\r\nFor all their strength, they shall not stab my soul\r\nAnd laugh thereafter! Dark and full of dole\r\nTheir bridal feast shall be, most dark the day\r\nThey joined their hands, and hunted me away.\r\nAwake thee now, Medea! Whatso plot\r\nThou hast, or cunning, strive and falter not.\r\nOn to the peril-point! Now comes the strain\r\nOf daring. Shall they trample thee again?\r\nHow? And with Hellas laughing o'er thy fall\r\nWhile this thief's daughter weds, and weds withal\r\nJason? . . . A true king was thy father, yea,\r\nAnd born of the ancient Sun! . . . Thou know'st the way;\r\nAnd God hath made thee woman, things most vain\r\nFor help, but wondrous in the paths of pain.<\/div>\r\n

[Medea<\/span> goes into the House<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nBack streams the wave on the ever running river:\r\nLife, life is changed and the laws of it o'ertrod.\r\nMan shall be the slave, the affrighted, the low-liver!\r\nMan hath forgotten God.\r\nAnd woman, yea, woman, shall be terrible in story:\r\nThe tales too, meseemeth, shall be other than of yore.\r\nFor a fear there is that cometh out of Woman and a glory,\r\nAnd the hard hating voices shall encompass her no more!\r\n\r\nThe old bards shall cease, and their memory that lingers\r\nOf frail brides and faithless, shall be shrivelled as with fire.\r\nFor they loved us not, nor knew us: and our lips were dumb, our fingers\r\nCould wake not the secret of the lyre.\r\nElse, else, O God the Singer, I had sung amid their rages\r\nA long tale of Man and his deeds for good and ill.\r\nBut the old World knoweth\u2014'tis the speech of all his ages\u2014\r\nMan's wrong and ours: he knoweth and is still.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

Some Women<\/h4>\r\n
\r\n\r\nForth from thy father's home\r\nThou camest, O heart of fire,\r\nTo the Dark Blue Rocks, to the clashing foam,\r\nTo the seas of thy desire:\r\n\r\nTill the Dark Blue Bar was crossed;\r\nAnd, lo, by an alien river\r\nStanding, thy lover lost,\r\nVoid-armed for ever,\r\n\r\nForth yet again, O lowest\r\nOf landless women, a ranger\r\nOf desolate ways, thou goest,\r\nFrom the walls of the stranger.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

Others<\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nAnd the great Oath waxeth weak;\r\nAnd Ruth, as a thing outstriven,\r\nIs fled, fled, from the shores of the Greek,\r\nAway on the winds of heaven.\r\n\r\nDark is the house afar,\r\nWhere an old king called thee daughter;\r\nAll that was once thy star\r\nIn stormy water,\r\n\r\nDark: and, lo, in the nearer\r\nHouse that was sworn to love thee,\r\nAnother, queenlier, dearer,\r\nIs thron\u00e8d above thee.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

[Enter from the right<\/i> Jason<\/span>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Oft have I seen, in other days than these,\r\nHow a dark temper maketh maladies\r\nNo friend can heal. 'Twas easy to have kept\r\nBoth land and home. It needed but to accept\r\nUnstrivingly the pleasure of our lords.\r\nBut thou, for mere delight in stormy words,\r\nWilt lose all! . . . Now thy speech provokes not me.\r\nRail on. Of all mankind let Jason be\r\nMost evil; none shall check thee. But for these\r\nDark threats cast out against the majesties\r\nOf Corinth, count as veriest gain thy path\r\nOf exile. I myself, when princely wrath\r\nWas hot against thee, strove with all good will\r\nTo appease the wrath, and wished to keep thee still\r\nBeside me. But thy mouth would never stay\r\nFrom vanity, blaspheming night and day\r\nOur masters. Therefore thou shalt fly the land.\r\nYet, even so, I will not hold my hand\r\nFrom succouring mine own people. Here am I\r\nTo help thee, woman, pondering heedfully\r\nThy new state. For I would not have thee flung\r\nProvisionless away\u2014aye, and the young\r\nChildren as well; nor lacking aught that will\r\nOf mine can bring thee. Many a lesser ill\r\nHangs on the heels of exile. . . . Aye, and though\r\nThou hate me, dream not that my heart can know\r\nOr fashion aught of angry will to thee.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Evil, most evil! . . . since thou grantest me\r\nThat comfort, the worst weapon left me now\r\nTo smite a coward. . . . Thou comest to me, thou,\r\nMine enemy! (Turning to the<\/i> Chorus<\/span>.) Oh, say, how call ye this,\r\nTo face, and smile, the comrade whom his kiss\r\nBetrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these:\r\n'Tis but of all man's inward sicknesses\r\nThe vilest, that he knoweth not of shame\r\nNor pity! Yet I praise him that he came . . .\r\nTo me it shall bring comfort, once to clear\r\nMy heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear.\r\nI will begin with that, 'twixt me and thee,\r\nThat first befell. I saved thee. I saved thee\u2014\r\nLet thine own Greeks be witness, every one\r\nThat sailed on Argo\u2014saved thee, sent alone\r\nTo yoke with yokes the bulls of fiery breath,\r\nAnd sow that Acre of the Lords of Death;\r\nAnd mine own ancient Serpent, who did keep\r\nThe Golden Fleece, the eyes that knew not sleep,\r\nAnd shining coils, him also did I smite\r\nDead for thy sake, and lifted up the light\r\nThat bade thee live. Myself, uncounsell\u00e8d,\r\nStole forth from father and from home, and fled\r\nWhere dark I\u00f4lcos under Pelion lies,\r\nWith thee\u2014Oh, single-hearted more than wise!\r\nI murdered Pelias, yea, in agony,\r\nBy his own daughters' hands, for sake of thee;\r\nI swept their house like War.\u2014And hast thou then\r\nAccepted all\u2014O evil yet again!\u2014\r\nAnd cast me off and taken thee for bride\r\nAnother? And with children at thy side!\r\nOne could forgive a childless man. But no:\r\nI have borne thee children . . .\r\nIs sworn faith so low\r\nAnd weak a thing? I understand it not.\r\nAre the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot,\r\nAnd new laws made? Since not my passioning,\r\nBut thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thing\r\nForsworn.<\/div>\r\n
<\/div>\r\n
[She catches sight of her own hand which she has thrown out to denounce him.<\/i>]<\/div>\r\n
<\/div>\r\n
Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom he<\/div>\r\n
Did cling to, and these knees, so cravingly,\r\nWe are unclean, thou and I; we have caught the stain\r\nOf bad men's flesh . . . and dreamed our dreams in vain.\r\nThou comest to befriend me? Give me, then,\r\nThy counsel. 'Tis not that I dream again\r\nFor good from thee: but, questioned, thou wilt show\r\nThe viler. Say: now whither shall I go?\r\nBack to my father? Him I did betray,\r\nAnd all his land, when we two fled away.\r\nTo those poor Peliad maids? For them 'twere good\r\nTo take me in, who spilled their father's blood. . . .\r\nAye, so my whole life stands! There were at home\r\nWho loved me well: to them I am become\r\nA curse. And the first friends who sheltered me,\r\nWhom most I should have spared, to pleasure thee\r\nI have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast thou laid\r\nMy crown upon me, blest of many a maid\r\nIn Hellas, now I have won what all did crave,\r\nThee, the world-wondered lover and the brave;\r\nWho this day looks and sees me banished, thrown\r\nAway with these two babes, all, all, alone . . .\r\nOh, merry mocking when the lamps are red:\r\n\"Where go the bridegroom's babes to beg their bread\r\nIn exile, and the woman who gave all\r\nTo save him?\"\r\nO great God, shall gold withal\r\nBear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine,\r\nAnd o'er man's living visage runs no sign\r\nTo show the lie within, ere all too late?<\/div>\r\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Dire and beyond all healing is the hate\r\nWhen hearts that loved are turned to enmity.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
In speech at least, meseemeth, I must be\r\nNot evil; but, as some old pilot goes\r\nFurled to his sail's last edge, when danger blows\r\nToo fiery, run before the wind and swell,\r\nWoman, of thy loud storms.\u2014And thus I tell\r\nMy tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous high\r\nThy deeds of service in my jeopardy,\r\nTo all my crew and quest I know but one\r\nSaviour, of Gods or mortals one alone,\r\nThe Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain and wit,\r\nYet underneath . . . nay, all the tale of it\r\nWere graceless telling; how sheer love, a fire\r\nOf poison-shafts, compelled thee with desire\r\nTo save me. But enough. I will not score\r\nThat count too close. 'Twas good help: and therefor\r\nI give thee thanks, howe'er the help was wrought.\r\nHowbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast got\r\nFar more than given. A good Greek land hath been\r\nThy lasting home, not barbary. Thou hast seen\r\nOur ordered life, and justice, and the long\r\nStill grasp of law not changing with the strong\r\nMan's pleasure. Then, all Hellas far and near\r\nHath learned thy wisdom, and in every ear\r\nThy fame is. Had thy days run by unseen\r\nOn that last edge of the world, where then had been\r\nThe story of great Medea? Thou and I . . .\r\nWhat worth to us were treasures heap\u00e8d high\r\nIn rich kings' rooms; what worth a voice of gold\r\nMore sweet than ever rang from Orpheus old,\r\nUnless our deeds have glory?\r\nSpeak I so,\r\nTouching the Quest I wrought, thyself did throw\r\nThe challenge down. Next for thy cavilling\r\nOf wrath at mine alliance with a king,\r\nHere thou shalt see I both was wise, and free\r\nFrom touch of passion, and a friend to thee\r\nMost potent, and my children . . . Nay, be still!\r\nWhen first I stood in Corinth, clogged with ill\r\nFrom many a desperate mischance, what bliss\r\nCould I that day have dreamed of, like to this,\r\nTo wed with a king's daughter, I exiled\r\nAnd beggared? Not\u2014what makes thy passion wild\u2014\r\nFrom loathing of thy bed; not over-fraught\r\nWith love for this new bride; not that I sought\r\nTo upbuild mine house with offspring: 'tis enough,\r\nWhat thou hast borne: I make no word thereof:\r\nBut, first and greatest, that we all might dwell\r\nIn a fair house and want not, knowing well\r\nThat poor men have no friends, but far and near\r\nShunning and silence. Next, I sought to rear\r\nOur sons in nurture worthy of my race,\r\nAnd, raising brethren to them, in one place\r\nJoin both my houses, and be all from now\r\nPrince-like and happy. What more need hast thou\r\nOf children? And for me, it serves my star\r\nTo link in strength the children that now are\r\nWith those that shall be.\r\nHave I counselled ill?\r\nNot thine own self would say it, couldst thou still\r\nOne hour thy jealous flesh.\u2014'Tis ever so!\r\nWho looks for more in women? When the flow\r\nOf love runs plain, why, all the world is fair:\r\nBut, once there fall some ill chance anywhere\r\nTo baulk that thirst, down in swift hate are trod\r\nMen's dearest aims and noblest. Would to God\r\nWe mortals by some other seed could raise\r\nOur fruits, and no blind women block our ways!\r\nThen had there been no curse to wreck mankind.<\/div>\r\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Lord Jason, very subtly hast thou twined\r\nThy speech: but yet, though all athwart thy will\r\nI speak, this is not well thou dost, but ill,\r\nBetraying her who loved thee and was true.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Surely I have my thoughts, and not a few\r\nHave held me strange. To me it seemeth, when\r\nA crafty tongue is given to evil men\r\n'Tis like to wreck, not help them. Their own brain\r\nTempts them with lies to dare and dare again,\r\nTill . . . no man hath enough of subtlety.\r\nAs thou\u2014be not so seeming-fair to me\r\nNor deft of speech. One word will make thee fall.\r\nWert thou not false, 'twas thine to tell me all,\r\nAnd charge me help thy marriage path, as I\r\nDid love thee; not befool me with a lie.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
An easy task had that been! Aye, and thou\r\nA loving aid, who canst not, even now,\r\nStill that loud heart that surges like the tide!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
That moved thee not. Thine old barbarian bride,\r\nThe dog out of the east who loved thee sore,\r\nShe grew grey-haired, she served thy pride no more.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Now understand for once! The girl to me\r\nIs nothing, in this web of sovranty\r\nI hold. I do but seek to save, even yet,\r\nThee: and for brethren to our sons beget\r\nYoung kings, to prosper all our lives again.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
God shelter me from prosperous days of pain,\r\nAnd wealth that maketh wounds about my heart.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Wilt change that prayer, and choose a wiser part?\r\nPray not to hold true sense for pain, nor rate\r\nThyself unhappy, being too fortunate.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Aye, mock me; thou hast where to lay thine head,\r\nBut I go naked to mine exile.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Tread\r\nThine own path! Thou hast made it all to be.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
How? By seducing and forsaking thee?<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
By those vile curses on the royal halls\r\nLet loose. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
On thy house also, as chance falls,\r\nI am a living curse.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Oh, peace! Enough\r\nOf these vain wars: I will no more thereof.\r\nIf thou wilt take from all that I possess\r\nAid for these babes and thine own helplessness\r\nOf exile, speak thy bidding. Here I stand\r\nFull-willed to succour thee with stintless hand,\r\nAnd send my signet to old friends that dwell\r\nOn foreign shores, who will entreat thee well.\r\nRefuse, and thou shalt do a deed most vain.\r\nBut cast thy rage away, and thou shalt gain\r\nMuch, and lose little for thine anger's sake.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
I will not seek thy friends. I will not take\r\nThy givings. Give them not. Fruits of a stem\r\nUnholy bring no blessing after them.<\/div>\r\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Now God in heaven be witness, all my heart\r\nIs willing, in all ways, to do its part\r\nFor thee and for thy babes. But nothing good\r\nCan please thee. In sheer savageness of mood\r\nThou drivest from thee every friend. Wherefore\r\nI warrant thee, thy pains shall be the more.<\/div>\r\n

[He goes slowly away.<\/i>]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Go: thou art weary for the new delight\r\nThou wooest, so long tarrying out of sight\r\nOf her sweet chamber. Go, fulfil thy pride,\r\nO bridegroom! For it may be, such a bride\r\nShall wait thee,\u2014yea, God heareth me in this\u2014\r\nAs thine own heart shall sicken ere it kiss.<\/div>\r\n\r\n
\r\n\r\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nAlas, the Love that falleth like a flood,\r\nStrong-winged and transitory:\r\nWhy praise ye him? What beareth he of good\r\nTo man, or glory?\r\nYet Love there is that moves in gentleness,\r\nHeart-filling, sweetest of all powers that bless.\r\nLoose not on me, O Holder of man's heart,\r\nThy golden quiver,\r\nNor steep in poison of desire the dart\r\nThat heals not ever.\r\n\r\nThe pent hate of the word that cavilleth,\r\nThe strife that hath no fill,\r\nWhere once was fondness; and the mad heart's breath\r\nFor strange love panting still:\r\nO Cyprian, cast me not on these; but sift,\r\nKeen-eyed, of love the good and evil gift.\r\nMake Innocence my friend, God's fairest star,\r\nYea, and abate not\r\nThe rare sweet beat of bosoms without war,\r\nThat love, and hate not.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

Others<\/h3>\r\n
\r\n\r\nHome of my heart, land of my own,\r\nCast me not, nay, for pity,\r\nOut on my ways, helpless, alone,\r\nWhere the feet fail in the mire and stone,\r\nA woman without a city.\r\nAh, not that! Better the end:\r\nThe green grave cover me rather,\r\nIf a break must come in the days I know,\r\nAnd the skies be changed and the earth below;\r\nFor the weariest road that man may wend\r\nIs forth from the home of his father.\r\n\r\nLo, we have seen: 'tis not a song\r\nSung, nor learned of another.\r\nFor whom hast thou in thy direst wrong\r\nFor comfort? Never a city strong\r\nTo hide thee, never a brother.\r\nAh, but the man\u2014curs\u00e8d be he,\r\nCurs\u00e8d beyond recover,\r\nWho openeth, shattering, seal by seal,\r\nA friend's clean heart, then turns his heel,\r\nDeaf unto love: never in me\r\nFriend shall he know nor lover.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n

[While<\/i> Medea<\/span> is waiting downcast, seated upon her door-step, there passes from the left a traveller with followers. As he catches sight of<\/i> Medea<\/span> he stops<\/i>.]<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Have joy, Medea! 'Tis the homeliest\r\nWord that old friends can greet with, and the best.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n

(looking up, surprised)<\/i><\/p>\r\n\r\n

Oh, joy on thee, too, Aegeus, gentle king\r\nOf Athens!\u2014But whence com'st thou journeying?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
From Delphi now and the old encaverned stair. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Where Earth's heart speaks in song? What mad'st thou there?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Prayed heaven for children\u2014the same search alway.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Children? Ah God! Art childless to this day?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
So God hath willed. Childless and desolate.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
What word did Ph\u0153bus speak, to change thy fate?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Riddles, too hard for mortal man to read.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Which I may hear?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Assuredly: they need<\/div>\r\n
A rarer wit.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
How said he?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Not to spill\r\nLife's wine, nor seek for more. . . .<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Until?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Until I tread the hearth-stone of my sires of yore.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
And what should bring thee here, by Creon's shore?<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
One Pittheus know'st thou, high lord of Troz\u00ean?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Aye, Pelops' son, a man most pure of sin.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Him I would ask, touching Apollo's will.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Much use in God's ways hath he, and much skill.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
And, long years back he was my battle-friend,\r\nThe truest e'er man had.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Well, may God send\r\nGood hap to thee, and grant all thy desire.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
But thou . . . ? Thy frame is wasted, and the fire\r\nDead in thine eyes.<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Aegeus, my husband is\r\nThe falsest man in the world.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
What word is this?\r\nSay clearly what thus makes thy visage dim?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
He is false to me, who never injured him.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n

What hath he done? Show all, that I may see.<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Ta'en him a wife; a wife, set over me\r\nTo rule his house.<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
He hath not dared to do,\r\nJason, a thing so shameful?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n

Aye, 'tis true:\r\nAnd those he loved of yore have no place now.<\/p>\r\n\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Some passion sweepeth him? Or is it thou\r\nHe turns from?<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Passion, passion to betray\r\nHis dearest!<\/div>\r\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Shame be his, so fallen away\r\nFrom honour!<\/div>\r\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\r\n
Passion to be near a throne,\r\nA king's heir!<\/div>","rendered":"

Creon<\/h3>\n
Thou woman sullen-eyed and hot with hate
\nAgainst thy lord, Medea, I here command
\nThat thou and thy two children from this land
\nGo forth to banishment. Make no delay:
\nSeeing ourselves, the King, are come this day
\nTo see our charge fulfilled; nor shall again
\nLook homeward ere we have led thy children twain
\nAnd thee beyond our realm’s last boundary.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Lost! Lost!
\nMine haters at the helm with sail flung free
\nPursuing; and for us no beach nor shore
\nIn the endless waters! . . . Yet, though stricken sore,
\nI still will ask thee, for what crime, what thing
\nUnlawful, wilt thou cast me out, O King?<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
What crime? I fear thee, woman\u2014little need
\nTo cloak my reasons\u2014lest thou work some deed
\nOf darkness on my child. And in that fear
\nReasons enough have part. Thou comest here
\nA wise-woman confessed, and full of lore
\nIn unknown ways of evil. Thou art sore
\nIn heart, being parted from thy lover’s arms.
\nAnd more, thou hast made menace . . . so the alarms
\nBut now have reached mine ear . . . on bride and groom,
\nAnd him who gave the bride, to work thy doom
\nOf vengeance. Which, ere yet it be too late,
\nI sweep aside. I choose to earn thine hate
\nOf set will now, not palter with the mood
\nOf mercy, and hereafter weep in blood.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
‘Tis not the first nor second time, O King,
\nThat fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to bring
\nMy ruin. . . . How can any man, whose eyes
\nAre wholesome, seek to rear his children wise
\nBeyond men’s wont? Much helplessness in arts
\nOf common life, and in their townsmen’s hearts
\nEnvy deep-set . . . so much their learning brings!
\nCome unto fools with knowledge of new things,
\nThey deem it vanity, not knowledge. Aye,
\nAnd men that erst for wisdom were held high,
\nFeel thee a thorn to fret them, privily
\nHeld higher than they. So hath it been with me.
\nA wise-woman I am; and for that sin
\nTo divers ill names men would pen me in;
\nA seed of strife; an eastern dreamer; one
\nOf brand not theirs; one hard to play upon . . .
\nAh, I am not so wondrous wise!\u2014And now,
\nTo thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou?
\nWhat dire deed? Do I tread so proud a path\u2014
\nFear me not thou!\u2014that I should brave the wrath
\nOf princes? Thou: what has thou ever done
\nTo wrong me? Granted thine own child to one
\nWhom thy soul chose.\u2014Ah, him<\/i> out of my heart
\nI hate; but thou, meseems, hast done thy part
\nNot ill. And for thine houses’ happiness
\nI hold no grudge. Go: marry, and God bless
\nYour issues. Only suffer me to rest
\nSomewhere within this land. Though sore oppressed,
\nI will be still, knowing mine own defeat.<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
Thy words be gentle: but I fear me yet
\nLest even now there creep some wickedness
\nDeep hid within thee. And for that the less
\nI trust thee now than ere these words began.
\nA woman quick of wrath, aye, or a man,
\nIs easier watching than the cold and still.
\nUp, straight, and find thy road! Mock not my will
\nWith words. This doom is passed beyond recall;
\nNor all thy crafts shall help thee, being withal
\nMy manifest foe, to linger at my side.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n

(suddenly throwing herself down and clinging to<\/i> Creon<\/span>)<\/p>\n

Oh, by thy knees! By that new-wedded bride . . .<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
‘Tis waste of words. Thou shalt not weaken me.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Wilt hunt me? Spurn me when I kneel to thee?<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
‘Tis mine own house that kneels to me, not thou.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Home, my lost home, how I desire thee now!<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
And I mine, and my child, beyond all things.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
O Loves of man, what curse is on your wings!<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
Blessing or curse, ’tis as their chances flow.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Remember, Zeus, the cause of all this woe!<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
Oh, rid me of my pains! Up, get thee gone!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
What would I with thy pains? I have mine own.<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
Up: or, ‘fore God, my soldiers here shall fling . . .<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Not that! Not that! . . . I do but pray, O King . . .<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
Thou wilt not? I must face the harsher task?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
I accept mine exile. ‘Tis not that I ask.<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
Why then so wild? Why clinging to mine hand?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n

(rising<\/i>)<\/p>\n

For one day only leave me in thy land
\nAt peace, to find some counsel, ere the strain
\nOf exile fall, some comfort for these twain,
\nMine innocents; since others take no thought,
\nIt seems, to save the babes that they begot.
\nAh! Thou wilt pity them! Thou also art
\nA father: thou hast somewhere still a heart
\nThat feels. . . . I reck not of myself: ’tis they
\nThat break me, fallen upon so dire a day.<\/div>\n

Creon<\/span><\/h3>\n
Mine is no tyrant’s mood. Aye, many a time
\nEre this my tenderness hath marred the chime
\nOf wisest counsels. And I know that now
\nI do mere folly. But so be it! Thou
\nShalt have this grace . . . But this I warn thee clear,
\nIf once the morrow’s sunlight find thee here
\nWithin my borders, thee or child of thine,
\nThou diest! . . . Of this judgment not a line
\n<\/a>Shall waver nor abate. So linger on,
\nIf thou needs must, till the next risen sun;
\nNo further. . . . In one day there scarce can be
\nThose perils wrought whose dread yet haunteth me.<\/div>\n

[Exit<\/i> Creon<\/span> with his suite<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\n
O woman, woman of sorrow,
\nWhere wilt thou turn and flee?
\nWhat town shall be thine to-morrow,
\nWhat land of all lands that be,
\nWhat door of a strange man’s home?
\nYea, God hath hunted thee,
\nMedea, forth to the foam
\nOf a trackless sea.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Defeat on every side; what else?\u2014But Oh,
\nNot here the end is: think it not! I know
\nFor bride and groom one battle yet untried,
\nAnd goodly pains for him that gave the bride.
\nDost dream I would have grovelled to this man,
\nSave that I won mine end, and shaped my plan
\nFor merry deeds? My lips had never deigned
\nSpeak word with him: my flesh been never stained
\nWith touching. . . . Fool, Oh, triple fool! It lay
\nSo plain for him to kill my whole essay
\nBy exile swift: and, lo, he sets me free
\nThis one long day: wherein mine haters three
\nShall lie here dead, the father and the bride
\nAnd husband\u2014mine, not hers! Oh, I have tried
\nSo many thoughts of murder to my turn,
\nI know not which best likes me. Shall I burn
\nTheir house with fire? Or stealing past unseen
\nTo Jason’s bed\u2014I have a blade made keen
\nFor that\u2014stab, breast to breast, that wedded pair?
\nGood, but for one thing. When I am taken there,
\nAnd killed, they will laugh loud who hate me. . . .
\nNay,
\nI love the old way best, the simple way
\nOf poison, where we too are strong as men.
\nAh me!
\nAnd they being dead\u2014what place shall hold me then?
\nWhat friend shall rise, with land inviolate
\nAnd trusty doors, to shelter from their hate
\nThis flesh? . . . None anywhere! . . . A little more
\nI needs must wait: and, if there ope some door
\nOf refuge, some strong tower to shield me, good:
\nIn craft and darkness I will hunt this blood.
\nElse, if mine hour be come and no hope nigh,
\nThen sword in hand, full-willed and sure to die,
\nI yet will live to slay them. I will wend
\nMan-like, their road of daring to the end.
\nSo help me She who of all Gods hath been
\nThe best to me, of all my chosen queen
\nAnd helpmate, Hecat\u00ea, who dwells apart,
\nThe flame of flame, in my fire’s inmost heart:
\nFor all their strength, they shall not stab my soul
\nAnd laugh thereafter! Dark and full of dole
\nTheir bridal feast shall be, most dark the day
\nThey joined their hands, and hunted me away.
\nAwake thee now, Medea! Whatso plot
\nThou hast, or cunning, strive and falter not.
\nOn to the peril-point! Now comes the strain
\nOf daring. Shall they trample thee again?
\nHow? And with Hellas laughing o’er thy fall
\nWhile this thief’s daughter weds, and weds withal
\nJason? . . . A true king was thy father, yea,
\nAnd born of the ancient Sun! . . . Thou know’st the way;
\nAnd God hath made thee woman, things most vain
\nFor help, but wondrous in the paths of pain.<\/div>\n

[Medea<\/span> goes into the House<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\n
\n

Back streams the wave on the ever running river:
\nLife, life is changed and the laws of it o’ertrod.
\nMan shall be the slave, the affrighted, the low-liver!
\nMan hath forgotten God.
\nAnd woman, yea, woman, shall be terrible in story:
\nThe tales too, meseemeth, shall be other than of yore.
\nFor a fear there is that cometh out of Woman and a glory,
\nAnd the hard hating voices shall encompass her no more!<\/p>\n

The old bards shall cease, and their memory that lingers
\nOf frail brides and faithless, shall be shrivelled as with fire.
\nFor they loved us not, nor knew us: and our lips were dumb, our fingers
\nCould wake not the secret of the lyre.
\nElse, else, O God the Singer, I had sung amid their rages
\nA long tale of Man and his deeds for good and ill.
\nBut the old World knoweth\u2014’tis the speech of all his ages\u2014
\nMan’s wrong and ours: he knoweth and is still.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Some Women<\/h4>\n
\n

Forth from thy father’s home
\nThou camest, O heart of fire,
\nTo the Dark Blue Rocks, to the clashing foam,
\nTo the seas of thy desire:<\/p>\n

Till the Dark Blue Bar was crossed;
\nAnd, lo, by an alien river
\nStanding, thy lover lost,
\nVoid-armed for ever,<\/p>\n

Forth yet again, O lowest
\nOf landless women, a ranger
\nOf desolate ways, thou goest,
\nFrom the walls of the stranger.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Others<\/h3>\n
\n

And the great Oath waxeth weak;
\nAnd Ruth, as a thing outstriven,
\nIs fled, fled, from the shores of the Greek,
\nAway on the winds of heaven.<\/p>\n

Dark is the house afar,
\nWhere an old king called thee daughter;
\nAll that was once thy star
\nIn stormy water,<\/p>\n

Dark: and, lo, in the nearer
\nHouse that was sworn to love thee,
\nAnother, queenlier, dearer,
\nIs thron\u00e8d above thee.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

[Enter from the right<\/i> Jason<\/span>.]<\/p>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Oft have I seen, in other days than these,
\nHow a dark temper maketh maladies
\nNo friend can heal. ‘Twas easy to have kept
\nBoth land and home. It needed but to accept
\nUnstrivingly the pleasure of our lords.
\nBut thou, for mere delight in stormy words,
\nWilt lose all! . . . Now thy speech provokes not me.
\nRail on. Of all mankind let Jason be
\nMost evil; none shall check thee. But for these
\nDark threats cast out against the majesties
\nOf Corinth, count as veriest gain thy path
\nOf exile. I myself, when princely wrath
\nWas hot against thee, strove with all good will
\nTo appease the wrath, and wished to keep thee still
\nBeside me. But thy mouth would never stay
\nFrom vanity, blaspheming night and day
\nOur masters. Therefore thou shalt fly the land.
\nYet, even so, I will not hold my hand
\nFrom succouring mine own people. Here am I
\nTo help thee, woman, pondering heedfully
\nThy new state. For I would not have thee flung
\nProvisionless away\u2014aye, and the young
\nChildren as well; nor lacking aught that will
\nOf mine can bring thee. Many a lesser ill
\nHangs on the heels of exile. . . . Aye, and though
\nThou hate me, dream not that my heart can know
\nOr fashion aught of angry will to thee.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Evil, most evil! . . . since thou grantest me
\nThat comfort, the worst weapon left me now
\nTo smite a coward. . . . Thou comest to me, thou,
\nMine enemy! (Turning to the<\/i> Chorus<\/span>.) Oh, say, how call ye this,
\nTo face, and smile, the comrade whom his kiss
\nBetrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these:
\n‘Tis but of all man’s inward sicknesses
\nThe vilest, that he knoweth not of shame
\nNor pity! Yet I praise him that he came . . .
\nTo me it shall bring comfort, once to clear
\nMy heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear.
\nI will begin with that, ‘twixt me and thee,
\nThat first befell. I saved thee. I saved thee\u2014
\nLet thine own Greeks be witness, every one
\nThat sailed on Argo\u2014saved thee, sent alone
\nTo yoke with yokes the bulls of fiery breath,
\nAnd sow that Acre of the Lords of Death;
\nAnd mine own ancient Serpent, who did keep
\nThe Golden Fleece, the eyes that knew not sleep,
\nAnd shining coils, him also did I smite
\nDead for thy sake, and lifted up the light
\nThat bade thee live. Myself, uncounsell\u00e8d,
\nStole forth from father and from home, and fled
\nWhere dark I\u00f4lcos under Pelion lies,
\nWith thee\u2014Oh, single-hearted more than wise!
\nI murdered Pelias, yea, in agony,
\nBy his own daughters’ hands, for sake of thee;
\nI swept their house like War.\u2014And hast thou then
\nAccepted all\u2014O evil yet again!\u2014
\nAnd cast me off and taken thee for bride
\nAnother? And with children at thy side!
\nOne could forgive a childless man. But no:
\nI have borne thee children . . .
\nIs sworn faith so low
\nAnd weak a thing? I understand it not.
\nAre the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot,
\nAnd new laws made? Since not my passioning,
\nBut thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thing
\nForsworn.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
[She catches sight of her own hand which she has thrown out to denounce him.<\/i>]<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom he<\/div>\n
Did cling to, and these knees, so cravingly,
\nWe are unclean, thou and I; we have caught the stain
\nOf bad men’s flesh . . . and dreamed our dreams in vain.
\nThou comest to befriend me? Give me, then,
\nThy counsel. ‘Tis not that I dream again
\nFor good from thee: but, questioned, thou wilt show
\nThe viler. Say: now whither shall I go?
\nBack to my father? Him I did betray,
\nAnd all his land, when we two fled away.
\nTo those poor Peliad maids? For them ’twere good
\nTo take me in, who spilled their father’s blood. . . .
\nAye, so my whole life stands! There were at home
\nWho loved me well: to them I am become
\nA curse. And the first friends who sheltered me,
\nWhom most I should have spared, to pleasure thee
\nI have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast thou laid
\nMy crown upon me, blest of many a maid
\nIn Hellas, now I have won what all did crave,
\nThee, the world-wondered lover and the brave;
\nWho this day looks and sees me banished, thrown
\nAway with these two babes, all, all, alone . . .
\nOh, merry mocking when the lamps are red:
\n“Where go the bridegroom’s babes to beg their bread
\nIn exile, and the woman who gave all
\nTo save him?”
\nO great God, shall gold withal
\nBear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine,
\nAnd o’er man’s living visage runs no sign
\nTo show the lie within, ere all too late?<\/div>\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\n
Dire and beyond all healing is the hate
\nWhen hearts that loved are turned to enmity.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
In speech at least, meseemeth, I must be
\nNot evil; but, as some old pilot goes
\nFurled to his sail’s last edge, when danger blows
\nToo fiery, run before the wind and swell,
\nWoman, of thy loud storms.\u2014And thus I tell
\nMy tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous high
\nThy deeds of service in my jeopardy,
\nTo all my crew and quest I know but one
\nSaviour, of Gods or mortals one alone,
\nThe Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain and wit,
\nYet underneath . . . nay, all the tale of it
\nWere graceless telling; how sheer love, a fire
\nOf poison-shafts, compelled thee with desire
\nTo save me. But enough. I will not score
\nThat count too close. ‘Twas good help: and therefor
\nI give thee thanks, howe’er the help was wrought.
\nHowbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast got
\nFar more than given. A good Greek land hath been
\nThy lasting home, not barbary. Thou hast seen
\nOur ordered life, and justice, and the long
\nStill grasp of law not changing with the strong
\nMan’s pleasure. Then, all Hellas far and near
\nHath learned thy wisdom, and in every ear
\nThy fame is. Had thy days run by unseen
\nOn that last edge of the world, where then had been
\nThe story of great Medea? Thou and I . . .
\nWhat worth to us were treasures heap\u00e8d high
\nIn rich kings’ rooms; what worth a voice of gold
\nMore sweet than ever rang from Orpheus old,
\nUnless our deeds have glory?
\nSpeak I so,
\nTouching the Quest I wrought, thyself did throw
\nThe challenge down. Next for thy cavilling
\nOf wrath at mine alliance with a king,
\nHere thou shalt see I both was wise, and free
\nFrom touch of passion, and a friend to thee
\nMost potent, and my children . . . Nay, be still!
\nWhen first I stood in Corinth, clogged with ill
\nFrom many a desperate mischance, what bliss
\nCould I that day have dreamed of, like to this,
\nTo wed with a king’s daughter, I exiled
\nAnd beggared? Not\u2014what makes thy passion wild\u2014
\nFrom loathing of thy bed; not over-fraught
\nWith love for this new bride; not that I sought
\nTo upbuild mine house with offspring: ’tis enough,
\nWhat thou hast borne: I make no word thereof:
\nBut, first and greatest, that we all might dwell
\nIn a fair house and want not, knowing well
\nThat poor men have no friends, but far and near
\nShunning and silence. Next, I sought to rear
\nOur sons in nurture worthy of my race,
\nAnd, raising brethren to them, in one place
\nJoin both my houses, and be all from now
\nPrince-like and happy. What more need hast thou
\nOf children? And for me, it serves my star
\nTo link in strength the children that now are
\nWith those that shall be.
\nHave I counselled ill?
\nNot thine own self would say it, couldst thou still
\nOne hour thy jealous flesh.\u2014’Tis ever so!
\nWho looks for more in women? When the flow
\nOf love runs plain, why, all the world is fair:
\nBut, once there fall some ill chance anywhere
\nTo baulk that thirst, down in swift hate are trod
\nMen’s dearest aims and noblest. Would to God
\nWe mortals by some other seed could raise
\nOur fruits, and no blind women block our ways!
\nThen had there been no curse to wreck mankind.<\/div>\n

Leader<\/span><\/h3>\n
Lord Jason, very subtly hast thou twined
\nThy speech: but yet, though all athwart thy will
\nI speak, this is not well thou dost, but ill,
\nBetraying her who loved thee and was true.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Surely I have my thoughts, and not a few
\nHave held me strange. To me it seemeth, when
\nA crafty tongue is given to evil men
\n‘Tis like to wreck, not help them. Their own brain
\nTempts them with lies to dare and dare again,
\nTill . . . no man hath enough of subtlety.
\nAs thou\u2014be not so seeming-fair to me
\nNor deft of speech. One word will make thee fall.
\nWert thou not false, ’twas thine to tell me all,
\nAnd charge me help thy marriage path, as I
\nDid love thee; not befool me with a lie.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
An easy task had that been! Aye, and thou
\nA loving aid, who canst not, even now,
\nStill that loud heart that surges like the tide!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
That moved thee not. Thine old barbarian bride,
\nThe dog out of the east who loved thee sore,
\nShe grew grey-haired, she served thy pride no more.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Now understand for once! The girl to me
\nIs nothing, in this web of sovranty
\nI hold. I do but seek to save, even yet,
\nThee: and for brethren to our sons beget
\nYoung kings, to prosper all our lives again.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
God shelter me from prosperous days of pain,
\nAnd wealth that maketh wounds about my heart.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Wilt change that prayer, and choose a wiser part?
\nPray not to hold true sense for pain, nor rate
\nThyself unhappy, being too fortunate.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Aye, mock me; thou hast where to lay thine head,
\nBut I go naked to mine exile.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Tread
\nThine own path! Thou hast made it all to be.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
How? By seducing and forsaking thee?<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
By those vile curses on the royal halls
\nLet loose. . . .<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
On thy house also, as chance falls,
\nI am a living curse.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Oh, peace! Enough
\nOf these vain wars: I will no more thereof.
\nIf thou wilt take from all that I possess
\nAid for these babes and thine own helplessness
\nOf exile, speak thy bidding. Here I stand
\nFull-willed to succour thee with stintless hand,
\nAnd send my signet to old friends that dwell
\nOn foreign shores, who will entreat thee well.
\nRefuse, and thou shalt do a deed most vain.
\nBut cast thy rage away, and thou shalt gain
\nMuch, and lose little for thine anger’s sake.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
I will not seek thy friends. I will not take
\nThy givings. Give them not. Fruits of a stem
\nUnholy bring no blessing after them.<\/div>\n

Jason<\/span><\/h3>\n
Now God in heaven be witness, all my heart
\nIs willing, in all ways, to do its part
\nFor thee and for thy babes. But nothing good
\nCan please thee. In sheer savageness of mood
\nThou drivest from thee every friend. Wherefore
\nI warrant thee, thy pains shall be the more.<\/div>\n

[He goes slowly away.<\/i>]<\/p>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Go: thou art weary for the new delight
\nThou wooest, so long tarrying out of sight
\nOf her sweet chamber. Go, fulfil thy pride,
\nO bridegroom! For it may be, such a bride
\nShall wait thee,\u2014yea, God heareth me in this\u2014
\nAs thine own heart shall sicken ere it kiss.<\/div>\n
\n

Chorus<\/span><\/h3>\n
\n

Alas, the Love that falleth like a flood,
\nStrong-winged and transitory:
\nWhy praise ye him? What beareth he of good
\nTo man, or glory?
\nYet Love there is that moves in gentleness,
\nHeart-filling, sweetest of all powers that bless.
\nLoose not on me, O Holder of man’s heart,
\nThy golden quiver,
\nNor steep in poison of desire the dart
\nThat heals not ever.<\/p>\n

The pent hate of the word that cavilleth,
\nThe strife that hath no fill,
\nWhere once was fondness; and the mad heart’s breath
\nFor strange love panting still:
\nO Cyprian, cast me not on these; but sift,
\nKeen-eyed, of love the good and evil gift.
\nMake Innocence my friend, God’s fairest star,
\nYea, and abate not
\nThe rare sweet beat of bosoms without war,
\nThat love, and hate not.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Others<\/h3>\n
\n

Home of my heart, land of my own,
\nCast me not, nay, for pity,
\nOut on my ways, helpless, alone,
\nWhere the feet fail in the mire and stone,
\nA woman without a city.
\nAh, not that! Better the end:
\nThe green grave cover me rather,
\nIf a break must come in the days I know,
\nAnd the skies be changed and the earth below;
\nFor the weariest road that man may wend
\nIs forth from the home of his father.<\/p>\n

Lo, we have seen: ’tis not a song
\nSung, nor learned of another.
\nFor whom hast thou in thy direst wrong
\nFor comfort? Never a city strong
\nTo hide thee, never a brother.
\nAh, but the man\u2014curs\u00e8d be he,
\nCurs\u00e8d beyond recover,
\nWho openeth, shattering, seal by seal,
\nA friend’s clean heart, then turns his heel,
\nDeaf unto love: never in me
\nFriend shall he know nor lover.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

[While<\/i> Medea<\/span> is waiting downcast, seated upon her door-step, there passes from the left a traveller with followers. As he catches sight of<\/i> Medea<\/span> he stops<\/i>.]<\/p>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Have joy, Medea! ‘Tis the homeliest
\nWord that old friends can greet with, and the best.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n

(looking up, surprised)<\/i><\/p>\n

Oh, joy on thee, too, Aegeus, gentle king
\nOf Athens!\u2014But whence com’st thou journeying?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
From Delphi now and the old encaverned stair. . . .<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Where Earth’s heart speaks in song? What mad’st thou there?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Prayed heaven for children\u2014the same search alway.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Children? Ah God! Art childless to this day?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
So God hath willed. Childless and desolate.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
What word did Ph\u0153bus speak, to change thy fate?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Riddles, too hard for mortal man to read.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Which I may hear?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Assuredly: they need<\/div>\n
A rarer wit.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
How said he?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Not to spill
\nLife’s wine, nor seek for more. . . .<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Until?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Until I tread the hearth-stone of my sires of yore.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
And what should bring thee here, by Creon’s shore?<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
One Pittheus know’st thou, high lord of Troz\u00ean?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Aye, Pelops’ son, a man most pure of sin.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Him I would ask, touching Apollo’s will.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Much use in God’s ways hath he, and much skill.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
And, long years back he was my battle-friend,
\nThe truest e’er man had.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Well, may God send
\nGood hap to thee, and grant all thy desire.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
But thou . . . ? Thy frame is wasted, and the fire
\nDead in thine eyes.<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Aegeus, my husband is
\nThe falsest man in the world.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
What word is this?
\nSay clearly what thus makes thy visage dim?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
He is false to me, who never injured him.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n

What hath he done? Show all, that I may see.<\/p>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Ta’en him a wife; a wife, set over me
\nTo rule his house.<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
He hath not dared to do,
\nJason, a thing so shameful?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n

Aye, ’tis true:
\nAnd those he loved of yore have no place now.<\/p>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Some passion sweepeth him? Or is it thou
\nHe turns from?<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Passion, passion to betray
\nHis dearest!<\/div>\n

Aegeus<\/span><\/h3>\n
Shame be his, so fallen away
\nFrom honour!<\/div>\n

Medea<\/span><\/h3>\n
Passion to be near a throne,
\nA king’s heir!<\/div>\n\n\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t

Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t
Public domain content<\/div>