an one that is crafty and keeps silence. But
begone as quick as possible, make no more words; since this is decreed, and
thou hast no art, by which thou wilt stay with us, being hostile to me.

MED. No I beseech you by your knees, and your newly-married daughter.

CRE. Thou wastest words; for thou wilt never persuade me.

MED. Wilt thou then banish me, nor reverence my prayers?

CRE. For I do not love thee better than my own family.

MED. O my country, how I remember thee now!

CRE. For next to my children it is much the dearest thing to me.

MED. Alas! alas! how great an ill is love to man!

CRE. That is, I think, as fortune also shall attend it.

MED. Jove, let it not escape thine eye, who is the cause of these
misfortunes.

CRE. Begone, fond woman, and free me from these cares.

MED. Care indeed;[15] and do not I experience cares?

CRE. Quickly shalt thou be driven hence by force by the hands of my
domestics.

MED. No, I pray not this at least; but I implore thee, Creon.

CRE. Thou wilt give trouble, woman, it seems.[16]

MED. I will go; I dare not ask to obtain this of you.

CRE. Why then dost thou resist, and wilt not depart from these realms?

MED. Permit me to remain here this one day, and to bring my purpose to a
conclusion, in what way we shall fly, and to make provision for my sons,
since their father in no way regards providing for his children; but pity
them, for thou also art the father of children; and it is probable that
thou hast tenderness: for of myself I have no care whether I may suffer
banishment, but I weep for them experiencing this calamity.

CRE. My disposition is least of all imperious, and through feeling pity in
many cases have I injured myself. And now I see that I am doing wrong, O
lady, but nevertheless thou shalt obtain thy request; but this I warn thee,
if to-morrow's light of the God of day shall behold thee and thy children
within the confines of these realms, thou shalt die: this word is spoken in
truth. But now if thou must stay, remain here yet one day, for thou wilt
not do any horrid deed of which I have dread.

MEDEA, CHORUS.

CHOR. Unhappy woman! alas wretched on account of thy griefs! whither wilt
thou turn? what hospitality, or house, or country wilt thou find a refuge
for these ills? how the Deity hath led thee, Medea, into a pathless tide of
woes!

MED. Ill hath it been done on every side. Who will gainsay it? but these
things are not in this way, do n