The altar fed me, and the bounty of each casual guest. Creusa Woe is thy mother, then, whoe’er she was! Ion Maybe my birth was some poor woman’s wrong. Creusa Hast thou any store, for thy dress is costly enough? Ion The god I serve gives me these robes to wear. Creusa Wert thou never eager to inquire into thy birth? Ion Ah! yes, lady! but I have no clue at all to guide me. Creusa Alas! I know another woman who hath suffered as thy mother did. Ion Who is she? If she would but help me in the task, how happy should I be! Creusa ’Tis she on whose account I have preceded my husband hither. Ion What are thy wishes? be sure I will serve thee, lady. Creusa I would fain obtain a secret answer from Apollo’s oracle. Ion Name it, then; the rest will I undertake for thee. Creusa Hear, then, this story. Yet am I ashamed. Ion Thus wilt thou accomplish naught, for shame is a goddess slow to act. Creusa A friend of mine asserts that Phoebus lay with her. Ion Phoebus with a mortal woman? Stranger lady, say not so. Creusa Yea, and she bare the god a child without her father’s knowledge. Ion It cannot be; some man did wrong her, and she is ashamed of it. Creusa This she denieis herself; and she hath suffered further woe. Ion How so, if she was wedded to a god? Creusa The babe she bare she did expose.