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So much I say to thee about my own toils, for ’twas thou didst challenge me to this retort. As for the taunts thou urgest against my marriage with the princess, I will prove to thee, first, that I am prudent herein, next chastened in my love, and last a powerful friend
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to thee and to thy sons; only hold thy peace. Since I have here withdrawn from Iolcos with many a hopeless trouble at my back, what happier device could I, an exile, frame than marriage with the daughter of the king?
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’Tis not because I loathe thee for my wife—the thought that rankles in thy heart; ’tis not because I am smitten with desire fot a new bride, nor yet that I am eager to vie with others in begetting many children, for those we have are quite enough, and I do not complain. Nay, ’tis that we—and this is most important—
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may dwell in comfort, instead of suffering want (for well I know that every whilom friend avoids the poor), and that I might rear my sons as doth befit my house; further, that I might be the father of brothers for the children thou hast born, and raise these to the same high rank, uniting the family in one,—
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to my lasting bliss. Thou, indeed, hast no need of more children, but me it profits to help my present family by that which is to be. Have I miscarried here? Not even thou wouldest say so unless a rival’s charms rankled in thy bosom. No, but you women have such strange ideas,
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that you think all is well so long as your married life runs smooth; but if some mischance occur to ruffle your love, all that was good and lovely erst you reckon as your foes. Yea, men should have begotten children from some other source, no female race existing;
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thus would no evil ever have fallen on mankind.
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So much I say to thee about my own toils, for ’twas thou didst challenge me to this retort. As for the taunts thou urgest against my marriage with the princess, I will prove to thee, first, that I am prudent herein, next chastened in my love, and last a powerful friend
545
to thee and to thy sons; only hold thy peace. Since I have here withdrawn from Iolcos with many a hopeless trouble at my back, what happier device could I, an exile, frame than marriage with the daughter of the king?
550
’Tis not because I loathe thee for my wife—the thought that rankles in thy heart; ’tis not because I am smitten with desire fot a new bride, nor yet that I am eager to vie with others in begetting many children, for those we have are quite enough, and I do not complain. Nay, ’tis that we—and this is most important—
555
may dwell in comfort, instead of suffering want (for well I know that every whilom friend avoids the poor), and that I might rear my sons as doth befit my house; further, that I might be the father of brothers for the children thou hast born, and raise these to the same high rank, uniting the family in one,—
560
to my lasting bliss. Thou, indeed, hast no need of more children, but me it profits to help my present family by that which is to be. Have I miscarried here? Not even thou wouldest say so unless a rival’s charms rankled in thy bosom. No, but you women have such strange ideas,
565
that you think all is well so long as your married life runs smooth; but if some mischance occur to ruffle your love, all that was good and lovely erst you reckon as your foes. Yea, men should have begotten children from some other source, no female race existing;
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thus would no evil ever have fallen on mankind.
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Chorus
This speech, O Jason, hast thou with specious art arranged; but yet I think—albeit in saying so I betray indiscretion—that thou hast sinned in casting over thy wife.
This speech, O Jason, hast thou with specious art arranged; but yet I think—albeit in saying so I betray indiscretion—that thou hast sinned in casting over thy wife.
Medea
No doubt I differ from the mass of men on many points;
for, to my mind, whoso hath skill to fence with words in an unjust cause, incurs the heaviest penalty; for such an one, confident that he can cast a decent veil of words o’er his injustice, dares to practise it; and yet he is not so very clever after all. So do not thou put forth thy specious pleas
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and clever words to me now, for one word of mine will lay thee low. Hadst thou not had a villain’s heart, thou shouldst have gained my consent, then made this match, instead of hiding it from those who loved thee.
585
No doubt I differ from the mass of men on many points;
for, to my mind, whoso hath skill to fence with words in an unjust cause, incurs the heaviest penalty; for such an one, confident that he can cast a decent veil of words o’er his injustice, dares to practise it; and yet he is not so very clever after all. So do not thou put forth thy specious pleas
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and clever words to me now, for one word of mine will lay thee low. Hadst thou not had a villain’s heart, thou shouldst have gained my consent, then made this match, instead of hiding it from those who loved thee.
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Medea. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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