Part 5

Enter from the right CREON, the King, with armed Attendants.

CREON.

Thou woman sullen-eyed and hot with hate Against thy lord, Medea, I here command That thou and thy two children from this land Go forth to banishment. Make no delay: Seeing ourselves, the King, are come this day To see our charge fulfilled; nor shall again Look homeward ere we have led thy children twain And thee beyond our realm's last boundary.

MEDEA.

Lost! Lost! Mine haters at the helm with sail flung free Pursuing; and for us no beach nor shore In the endless waters! . . . Yet, though stricken sore, I still will ask thee, for what crime, what thing Unlawful, wilt thou cast me out, O King?

CREON.

What crime? I fear thee, woman--little need To cloak my reasons--lest thou work some deed Of darkness on my child. And in that fear Reasons enough have part. Thou comest here A wise-woman confessed, and full of lore In unknown ways of evil. Thou art sore In heart, being parted from thy lover's arms. And more, thou hast made menace . . . so the alarms But now have reached mine ear . . . on bride and groom, And him who gave the bride, to work thy doom Of vengeance. Which, ere yet it be too late, I sweep aside. I choose to earn thine hate Of set will now, not palter with the mood Of mercy, and hereafter weep in blood.

MEDEA.

'Tis not the first nor second time, O King, That fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to bring My ruin. . . . How can any man, whose eyes Are wholesome, seek to rear his children wise Beyond men's wont? Much helplessness in arts Of common life, and in their townsmen's hearts Envy deep-set . . . so much their learning brings! Come unto fools with knowledge of new things, They deem it vanity, not knowledge. Aye, And men that erst for wisdom were held high, Feel thee a thorn to fret them, privily Held higher than they. So hath it been with me. A wise-woman I am; and for that sin To divers ill names men would pen me in; A seed of strife; an eastern dreamer; one Of brand not theirs; one hard to play upon . . . Ah, I am not so wondrous wise!--And now, To thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou? What dire deed? Do I tread so proud a path-- Fear me not thou!--that I should brave the wrath Of princes? Thou: what has thou ever done To wrong me? Granted thine own child to one Whom thy soul chose.--Ah, him out of my heart I hate; but thou, meseems, hast done thy part Not ill. And for thine houses' happiness I hold no grudge. Go: marry, and God bless Your issues. Only suffer me to rest Somewhere within this land. Though sore oppressed, I will be still, knowing mine own defeat.

CREON.

Thy words be gentle: but I fear me yet Lest even now there creep some wickedness Deep hid within thee. And for that the less I trust thee now than ere these words began. A woman quick of wrath, aye, or a man, Is easier watching than the cold and still. Up, straight, and find thy road! Mock not my will With words. This doom is passed beyond recall; Nor all thy crafts shall help thee, being withal My manifest foe, to linger at my side.

MEDEA (suddenly throwing herself down and clinging to CREON).

Oh, by thy knees! By that new-wedded bride . . .

CREON.

'Tis waste of words. Thou shalt not weaken me.

MEDEA.

Wilt hunt me? Spurn me when I kneel to thee?

CREON.

'Tis mine own house that kneels to me, not thou.

MEDEA.

Home, my lost home, how I desire thee now!

CREON.

And I mine, and my child, beyond all things.

MEDEA.

O Loves of man, what curse is on your wings!

CREON.

Blessing or curse, 'tis as their chances flow.

MEDEA.