Medea (292-357)

Alas! this is not now the first time, but oft before, O Creon, hath my reputation injured me and caused sore mischief. Wherefore whoso is wise in his generation ought

never to have his children taught to be too clever; for besides the reputation they get for idleness, they purchase bitter odium from the citizens. For if thou shouldst import new learning amongst dullards, thou will be thought a useless trifler, void of knowledge;

while if thy fame in the city o’ertops that of the pretenders to cunning knowledge, thou wilt win their dislike. I too myself share in this ill-luck. Some think me clever and hate me, others say I am too reserved, and some the very reverse;[*]

others find me hard to please and not so very clever after all. Be that as it may, thou dost fear me lest I bring on thee something to mar thy harmony. Fear me not, Creon, ray position scarce is such that I should seek to quarrel with princes. Why should I, for how hast thou injured me? Thou hast betrothed thy daughter

where thy fancy prompted thee. No, ’tis my husband I hate, though I doubt not thou hast acted wisely herein. And now I grudge not thy prosperity; betroth thy child, good luck to thee, but let me abide in this land, for though I have been wronged

I will be still and yield to my superiors.

Thy words are soft to hear, but much I dread lest thou art devising some mischief in thy heart, and less than ever do I trust thee now; for a cunning woman, and man likewise,

is easier to guard against when quick-tempered than when taciturn. Nay, begone at once! speak me no speeches, for this is decreed, nor hast thou any art whereby thou shalt abide amongst us, since thou hatest me.

O, say not so! by thy knees and by thy daughter newly-wed, I do implore!

Thou wastest words; thou wilt never persuade me.

What, wilt thou banish me, and to my prayers no pity yield?

I will, for I love not thee above my own family.

O my country! what fond memories I have of thee in this hour!

Yea, for I myself love my city best of all things save my children.

Ah me! ah me! to mortal man how dread a scourge is love!

That, I deem, is according to the turn our fortunes take.

O Zeus! let not the author of these my troubles escape thee.

Begone, thou silly woman, and free me from my toil.

The toil is mine, no lack of it.

Soon wilt thou be thrust out forcibly by the hand of servants.

Not that, not that, I do entreat thee, Creon!

Thou wilt cause disturbance yet, it seems.

I will begone; I ask thee not this boon to grant.

Why then this violence? why dost thou not depart?

Suffer me to abide this single day and devise some plan for the manner of my exile, and means of living for my children, since their father cares not to provide his babes therewith. Then pity them; thou too hast children of thine own;

thou needs must have a kindly heart. For my own lot I care naught, though I an exile am, but for those babes I weep, that they should learn what sorrow means.

Mine is a nature anything but harsh; full oft by showing pity have I suffered shipwreck;

and now albeit I clearly see my error, yet shalt thou gain this request, lady; but I do forewarn thee, if to-morrow’s rising sun shall find thee and thy children within the borders of this land, thou diest; my word is spoken and it will not lie.

So now, if abide thou must, stay this one day only, for in it thou canst not do any of the fearful deeds I dread.