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Jason
I am come at thy bidding, for e’en though thy hate for me is bitter thou shalt not fail in this small boon, but I will hear what new request thou hast to make of me, lady.
I am come at thy bidding, for e’en though thy hate for me is bitter thou shalt not fail in this small boon, but I will hear what new request thou hast to make of me, lady.
Medea
Jason, I crave thy pardon
for the words I spoke, and well thou mayest brook my burst of passion, for ere now we twain have shared much love. For I have reasoned with my soul and railed upon me thus,
Ah! poor heart 1 why am I thus distraught, why so angered ’gainst all good advice,
870
why have I come to hate the rulers of the land, my husband too, who does the best for me he can, in wedding with a princess and rearing for my children noble brothers? Shall I not cease to fret? What possesses me, when heaven its best doth offer?
875
Have I not my children to consider? do I forget that we are fugitives, in need of friends? When I had thought all this I saw how foolish I had been, how senselessly enraged. So now I do commend thee and think thee most wise in forming
880
this connexion for us; but I was mad, I who should have shared in these designs, helped on thy plans, and lent my aid to bring about the match, only too pleased to wait upon thy bride. But what we are, we are, we women, evil I will not say;
885
wherefore thou shouldst not sink to our sorry level nor with our weapons meet our childishness.
890
I yield and do confess that I was wrong then, but now have I come to a better mind. Come hither, my children, come, leave the house,
step forth, and with me greet and bid farewell to your father, be reconciled from all past bitterness unto your friends, as now your mother is; for we have made a truce and anger is no more.
Enter the Children. Take his right hand; ah me! my sad fate!
895
when I reflect, as now, upon the hidden future. O my children, since there awaits you even thus a long, long life, stretch forth the hand to take a fond farewell. Ah me! how new
1
to tears am I, how full of fear! For now that I have at last released me from my quarrel with your father,
900
I let the tear-drops stream adown my tender cheek.
905
Jason, I crave thy pardon
for the words I spoke, and well thou mayest brook my burst of passion, for ere now we twain have shared much love. For I have reasoned with my soul and railed upon me thus,
Ah! poor heart 1 why am I thus distraught, why so angered ’gainst all good advice,
870
why have I come to hate the rulers of the land, my husband too, who does the best for me he can, in wedding with a princess and rearing for my children noble brothers? Shall I not cease to fret? What possesses me, when heaven its best doth offer?
875
Have I not my children to consider? do I forget that we are fugitives, in need of friends? When I had thought all this I saw how foolish I had been, how senselessly enraged. So now I do commend thee and think thee most wise in forming
880
this connexion for us; but I was mad, I who should have shared in these designs, helped on thy plans, and lent my aid to bring about the match, only too pleased to wait upon thy bride. But what we are, we are, we women, evil I will not say;
885
wherefore thou shouldst not sink to our sorry level nor with our weapons meet our childishness.
890
I yield and do confess that I was wrong then, but now have I come to a better mind. Come hither, my children, come, leave the house,
step forth, and with me greet and bid farewell to your father, be reconciled from all past bitterness unto your friends, as now your mother is; for we have made a truce and anger is no more.
Enter the Children. Take his right hand; ah me! my sad fate!
895
when I reflect, as now, upon the hidden future. O my children, since there awaits you even thus a long, long life, stretch forth the hand to take a fond farewell. Ah me! how new
1
to tears am I, how full of fear! For now that I have at last released me from my quarrel with your father,
900
I let the tear-drops stream adown my tender cheek.
905
Chorus
From my eyes too bursts forth the copious tear; O, may no greater ill than the present e’er befall!
From my eyes too bursts forth the copious tear; O, may no greater ill than the present e’er befall!
Medea. Euripides. Edward P. Coleridge (Translator). London. 1906.
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