Medea. A tragedy

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [dedication]

- PROLOGUE.

- DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- ACT THE FIRST.

- SCENE THE FIRST.

- SCENE THE SECOND.

- SCENE THE THIRD.

- SCENE THE FOURTH.

- SCENE THE FIFTH.

- SCENE THE SIXTH.

- SCENE THE SEVENTH.

- SCENE THE EIGHTH.

- [music]

- FIRST PART OF THE MUSIC.

- SECOND PART.

- ACT THE SECOND.

- SCENE THE FIRST.

- SCENE THE SECOND.

- SCENE THE THIRD.

- SCENE THE FOURTH.

- SCENE THE FIFTH.

- SCENE THE SIXTH.

- SCENE THE SEVENTH.

- ACT THE THIRD.

- SCENE THE FIRST.

- SCENE THE SECOND.

- SCENE THE THIRD.

- SCENE THE FOURTH.

- SCENE THE FIFTH.

- SCENE THE SIXTH.

- SCENE THE SEVENTH.

- SCENE THE EIGHTH.

- SCENE THE NINTH.

- SCENE THE TENTH.

- ACT THE FOURTH.

- SCENE THE FIRST.

- SCENE THE SECOND.

- SCENE THE THIRD.

- SCENE THE FOURTH.

- SCENE THE FIFTH.

- SCENE THE SIXTH.

- SCENE THE SEVENTH.

- SCENE THE EIGHTH.

- SCENE THE NINTH.

- SCENE THE TENTH.

- SCENE THE ELEVENTH.

- SCENE THE TWELFTH.

- SCENE THE THIRTEENTH.

- SCENE THE FOURTEENTH.

- ACT THE FIFTH.

- SCENE THE FIRST.

- SCENE THE SECOND.

- SCENE THE THIRD.

- SCENE THE FOURTH.

- SCENE THE FIFTH.

- SCENE THE SIXTH.

- SCENE THE SEVENTH.

- SCENE THE LAST.

- ERRATA.

MEDEA. A TRAGEDY.

MEDEA. A TRAGEDY.

—Aestuat ingens

Imo in corde pudor, mixtoque insania luctu,

Et furiis agitatus amor, et conscia virtus.

AENEID.

LONDON: Printed by H. WOODFALL: And Sold by J. MORGAN, Pater-noster-row. M.DCC.LXI.

[Price TWO SHILLINGS and SIX-PENCE.]

TO THE KING THIS TRAGEDY OF MEDEA IS MOST HUMBLY INSCRIB'D BY HIS MAJESTY's

MOST DUTIFUL, MOST FAITHFUL AND DEVOTED SUBJECT AND SERVANT, R. GLOVER.

PROLOGUE.

THOUGH wild our theme, the grave historian's page

Hath sanctify'd the tale through ev'ry age.

Who hath not heard of Argo sent from Greece,

Of Jason's labours for the golden fleece,

And fond Medea's ill-requited aid

To that false hero, who his vows betray'd?

In ev'ry clime, where learned Muses reign,

The stage hath known Medea's mournful strain,

Hath giv'n the flying car, and magic rod

To her, th' avow'd descendant of a god.

The storms of trouble, which afflict the great,

Teach private life to prise its tranquil state.

That truth the moral of our fable shows

Too well in scenes of unexampled woes,

Which here will ravage an exalted breast

Of merit conscious, and with shame opprest;

Where love and fury, grief and madness join'd

O'erturn the structure of a godlike mind.

Pow'r, wisdom, science, and her birth divine

In vain to shield her from distress combine;

Nor wisdom, pow'r, nor science yield relief;

Her potent wand can vanquish all, but grief:

In vain her winged chariot sweeps the air

To shun that mightier sorceress, despair.

The characters and passions hence exprest

Are all submitted to the feeling breast;

Let ancient story justify the rest.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- JASON.

- AESON.

- CREON.

- LYCANDER.

- FIRST COLCHIAN.

- FIRST CORINTHIAN.

- MEDEA.

- THEANO.

- HECATÉ.

- FIRST PHAEACIAN.

COLCHIANS, PHAEACIANS, THESSALIANS and CORINTHIANS.

The scene is in the citadel of Corinth between a grove sacred to Juno, and the royal palace, with a distant prospect of the sea.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE THE FIRST.

LYCANDER seeing THEANO advance from the temple of JUNO.

THAT form divine, by all rever'd and lov'd,

Moves from the temple. On her pensive brow

Sits holy care with gentleness and grace,

Whose placid beams humanity reveal.

She stops contemplating the sea. Theano—

Why with that musing aspect tow'rd the main

Stand'st thou regardless of thy brother's voice?

THEANO.

Imperial Juno in an awful vision

This morn presented to my wondring sight

The shapes of strangers by distress pursu'd;

Whom to the refuge of this holy place

I must receive obedient to her charge:

And lo! a vessel turns her hast'ning prow

To Corinth's harbour.

LYCANDER.

Ten well-measur'd strokes

Of her swift oars will reach the shore below:

But hear my errand. Creon knows, thy altar

Unclad with garlands still proclaims thy firmness

Against his daughter's marriage; then prepare

Thy hallow'd eye to meet his threat'ning brow;

Fence thy chaste ear against his impious vaunts,

Which urge th' example of Almighty Jove

For his own thirst of empire.

THEANO. Say to Creon,

Kings should aspire to imitate the Gods

Not in their pow'r, but goodness; human virtues

More nigh to Heav'n's perfection may be rais'd,

Than human grandeur: Jove derides the toil

Of mortal pow'r, but smiles on righteous deeds.

LYCANDER.

Thus would I speak, Theano, could my words

And thoughts be tun'd in harmony like thine;

But danger breaks that union in a palace,

And strains the tongue to discord with the heart:

Then pacify thy goddess, when the king

Exacts my service, if discretion wears

A mask of duty; kindly thou impute

Blame to my station, and absolve Lycander.

But look; yon vessel hath discharg'd its train,

Who climb the hill with aged steps and slow.

Nay turn thy eyes; a second troop of strangers

March through the city. Sable is their garb,

Their mien dejected. This demands my care.

Farewel.

SCENE THE SECOND.

THEANO and COLCHIANS.

THEANO.

What forms are these? All-potent goddess!

I feel thee now; my vision is accomplish'd.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

O thou, who seem'st the guardian of these shades,

Which from the isthmus shew their tow'ring growth,

The sailor's guide through Corinth's double main;

Permit an humble stranger to enquire,

What pow'r is worshipp'd here.

THEANO aside.

The very garb!

The figures painted in my recent vision!

Thy feet, O stranger, stand on sacred earth.

These shades enclose the venerable fane

Erected there to hymeneal Juno,

Whose presence guards the citadel of Corinth.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Then let us lift our suppliant voice unblam'd,

That in the refuge of this hallow'd grove

Our exil'd feet may rest.

THEANO.

Your suit is granted.

So wills the pow'r inhabiting that temple.

And say, ye favour'd of connubial Juno,

What are your names and country?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

From the banks

Of distant Phasis, and the Euxin wave,

Lost to our native mansions, are we come

Ill-guided Colchians to the walls of Corinth.

On king Aeetes' daughter we attend,

That boast of Asia, to the Sun ally'd,

To Hecaté and Circé, more illustrious

In her own virtues, for her wisdom known

Through ev'ry clime, the all-endow'd Medea.

THEANO.

Where is your princess?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

In that anchor'd bark,

Which to your haven from Iolcos sail'd;

Where on his specious ambassy to Creon

Her husband left her on a lonely pillow:

At length impatient of his tedious absence

She and her sons have brav'd th' unsparing deep.

THEANO.

Yet more unsparing, than the deep, is man.

So will this daughter of affliction find,

When her sad feet are planted on this shore.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

How swift are evil tidings! While our keel

But lightly touch'd that well-frequented strand,

We heard, th' ungrateful Jason would divorce her

This day to wed the daughter of your monarch.

THEANO.

If heav'n prevent not. Through the solemn shade

Direct thy view. That high-rais'd altar note

Close by the fountain. Thither lead your princess.

This is a refuge, which no regal pride

High-swoln with pow'r, nor multitude inflam'd

By madding discord, nor invader's rapine

Have e'er profan'd. Return. Yon palace opens.

No friend of yours approaches. It is Creon.

Thou too be present, goddess, and illumine

The earth-born darkness of thy servant's mind.

SCENE THE THIRD.

THEANO and CREON.

CREON entring.

Why do they paint Medea's woes to me?

A king should lift his steady front on high,

And, while he gazes on the radiant throne,

Where bright ambition sits amid the stars,

The hopes, the fears, the miseries of others

Pass by unheeded in his contemplation.

Art thou come forth with those ill-omen'd looks

To blast the public festival?

THEANO.

Howl, howl,

Deluded city; banish from thy dwellings

The genial banquet; fill thy streets with mourners

To celebrate in notes of lamentation

A nuptial day offensive to the gods.

CREON.

Thinkst thou, thy priestly office can avail

To counteract the high designs of kings?

Go and with bridal chaplets deck thy altar,

Left thou provoke me to confound thy pride

Elate with wreaths of sanctity in vain.

THEANO.

Not, that the holy fillet binds my temples,

Not, that before the altar I present

The public victim, or a nation's vows

By me are usher'd to th' eternal thrones,

Misjudging monarch, is my heart elate;

It is, that virtue owns me for her servant.

Benevolence and pity guide my will,

Beneficence and charity my deeds.

Ev'n now, though deem'd importunate and proud,

My soul bows down in heaviness for Creon,

And at his danger sighs in mournful warnings.

CREON.

Repeat thy warnings to the coward's ear.

My danger?

THEANO.

From that goddess, who inspir'd

The Colchian princess to desert her father,

To aid the Grecian heroes, and restore

Our lost possession of the golden fleece.

The voice of loud complaint from yonder beach

Already strikes her ear. Medea—

CREON.

Ha!

What of Medea?

THEANO.

Is arriv'd in Corinth.

CREON.

Arriv'd?

THEANO.

She and her children to reclaim

A husband and a father in that prince,

Whom thou hast destin'd to Creüsa's bed.

CREON.

Thou, who obtain'st infinity of pow'r,

Lord of Olympus, king of gods and men,

Dost thou regard thy scepter'd sons below?

Say, shall a female hand o'erturn the basis,

Which I am founding to enlarge my sway?

If so, resume the diadem, I wear;

Its scanty circle I reject with scorn.

THEANO.

Ye winds, disperse impieties like these;

Nor let their sound profane the heav'nly threshold.

CREON.

Hence to thy temple.

THEANO.

Thou defy'st not me,

But her, whose awful presence fills that temple.

Imperfect victims, inauspicious off'rings,

And sounds portentous have foreboded long

Her high displeasure. Her apparent form

Stood near my pillow at the op'ning dawn,

And strictly charg'd me to receive this stranger.

Think too, what lofty science arms Medea

With more, than nature's force.

CREON.

I think it false,

And all the fabled wonders of her charms,

Thy legends too of inauspicious off'rings,

Imperfect victims, and portentous sounds,

What priests may publish, and a king despise.

THEANO.

Farewel, rash prince. My duty is discharg'd.

CREON.

Stay. Dost thou mean to give this Colchian refuge?

THEANO.

Can I dispute a deity's injunction?

CREON.

Go, dream again; procure some wiser vision,

Which may instruct thee to avoid my wrath.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

CREON and LYCANDER.

CREON.

Where hast thou loiter'd to conceal th' arrival

Of this accurst enchantress, and the purpose

Of thy rebellious sister to protect her?

LYCANDER.

My lord, these tydings are to me unknown;

But further news of high import I bear.

Iolchian Aeson, Jason's royal sire,

Advancing now anticipates this notice.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

CREON, LYCANDER, and AESON with THESSALIANS in mourning garments.

CREON.

Thrice hail! my double brother. Do I owe

Thy timely presence to our ancient friendship,

Or to th' alarm, Medea's flight might raise,

Who scarce precedes thy fortunate appearance?

My sudden joy o'erlook'd that dusky robe.

AESON.

It suits my fortune. Heavy with affliction

My weary feet are banish'd from Iolcos.

How my fell brother, Pelias, that usurper

Of my paternal sway was foil'd and slain,

Thou know'st. His son retreated into Thrace;

Whence he hath pour'd a savage host of ruffians

With unexpected inroad, and so rapid,

That instant flight alone preserv'd thy friend,

Thy suppliant now for aid.

CREON.

Dismiss thy cares.

Soon shall thy warlike son display his banners,

Extend my frontier, and recover thine.

More of thy fortunes shalt thou tell hereafter;

But give to gladness this selected day

Of Jason's nuptials.

AESON.

Nobly thou reliev'st

A king's distress. Now satisfy the parent.

Lead me to Jason.

CREON.

Follow to my palace.

LYCANDER.

He is not there.

CREON.

What say'st thou?

LYCANDER.

On the sands

Alone with melancholy pace he treads,

As I but now descry'd him from this rock.

AESON.

With melancholy pace?

CREON.

His promise binds him

This very morning to espouse Creüsa.

AESON.

Perhaps with fresh calamity o'erworn,

I doubt too much; yet hear me.

CREON.

Thy appearance

Removes all doubts. Lycander, find the prince.

Say, who is come to celebrate his nuptials.

AESON to LYCANDER.

Is he a stranger to Medea's landing?

LYCANDER.

I trust, he is.

AESON.

They must not meet.

CREON.

Lycander,

See, thou prevent it. Send Theano to us;

And let her bring obedience: else her fault

Shall on thy head be punish'd.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

CREON and AESON.

AESON.

Should my son

Once see Medea!

CREON.

Can her looks annul

A league like ours?

AESON.

Alas! thou little know'st her.

Her eye surpasses that refulgent star,

Which first adorns the evening; and her talents

Exceed her beauty. Like the forked thunder

She wields resistless arguments; her words

With more, than lightning's subtlety, are wing'd.

CREON.

Why art thou startled?

AESON.

She is there—ascending;

My sight acquainted with her haughty steps

Shrinks, ere they touch the summit of this hill.

CREON.

Which is the far-fam'd sorceress of Colchis?

AESON.

Too well distinguish'd by her stately port,

And elevation o'er that weeping train,

She tow'rs a genuin off-spring of the gods.

Rage on her brow, and anguish in her eye

Denounce the growing tempest of her mind.

CREON.

Now, god of waters, since thy partial hand

Thrusts this barbarian outcast on my shores,

Back to thy floods the fugitive I spurn.

AESON.

What means my royal friend? Retire. Avoid

This formidable woman, who may wound

Our dignity. I know her soaring mind,

Which all enlighten'd with sublimest knowledge

Disdains the state and majesty of kings,

Nor ranks with less, than deity itself.

CREON.

Curse on her beauty, and majestic mien!

But let the rumor of her pow'r be true;

The Sun, her boasted ancestor, may arm

Her hand with fire; let Hecaté and Circé,

The goddesses of spells, and black enchantments,

Attend her steps, and cloath her feet in terror:

We have our fiends; the sorceress shall find,

That grief, despair, distraction wait our nod,

To wring her heart through all her magic guards.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.

MEDEA, her two CHILDREN, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

MEDEA.

No more, I charge you. Noble minds oppress'd

By injuries disdain the sound of comfort.

Ye fiends and furies wont to leave your flames

At my command, and tremble at my charms,

Now, now ascend and aid Medea's rage.

Give me the voice of thunder to resound

My indignation o'er the earth and heav'ns;

That I, who draw my lineage from the Sun,

Am fall'n below the basest lot of slaves:

That anguish, want, despair, contempt and shame

Are heap'd together by the hands of fate,

Whelm'd in one mass of ruin on my head,

And dash my struggling virtue to the ground.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Why to our faithful counsels art thou deaf?

MEDEA.

Canst thou by counsel wast my exil'd feet

To my lost parents, my forsaken friends,

And native palace?—Oh! I gave him all;

To him my virgin bosom I resign'd,

For him the regal mansion of my father,

The lov'd companions of my youth deserted;

From foul defeat, from shame, from death I sav'd him:

What more could woman?—Yet he weds another.

Me he abandons, and these helpless infants

Forlorn, unshelter'd in a foreign clime,

To ev'ry outrage, ev'ry want expos'd.

Blast his perfidious head, vindictive lightnings!

Unhappy woman! canst thou in the height

Of thy despair, thy rage and indignation,

Canst thou pursue him with a heavier curse,

Than to be plung'd in woes, which equal thine?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Though stung with just resentment, due regard

Pay to my age, fidelity and service.

A long and painful traverse from Iolcos

Hast thou endur'd, nor since thy landing here

The needful succour known of rest, or food.

MEDEA.

Talk not to me of nourishment and rest.

Food to these lips, and slumber to these eyes

Must ever now be strangers.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

By the beams

Of thy forefather never will I see

Thy wisdom bound in vassalage to passion.

Once more I warn thee, princess, to thy refuge.

This is the consecrated bow'r of Juno.

Thou underneath the hospitable shade

Sit suppliant down.

MEDEA.

Improvident Medea!

To raise another from destruction's depths,

To wealth, to glory raise him, yet thyself

Leave destitute and suppliant! Oh! what art thou,

Whom blinded men unerring wisdom call?

Thou couldst not pierce the thin, the airy veils,

Which from my eyes conceal'd the paths of danger;

Nor canst thou now repel th' increasing storm

Of rapid anguish, which o'erturns my peace:

Down to the endless gloom of dreary night;

Hence, let me drive thee from my inmost soul;

That nothing calm may hover nigh my heart

To cool its pain, and save me from distraction.

SCENE THE EIGHTH.

COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

A COLCHIAN.

Come on, ye soft companions in affliction,

Melodious daughters of Phaeacia's isle;

In strains alternate let us chaunt our grief:

Perhaps our mistress we may charm to rest.

A PHAEACIAN.

O Music, sweet artificer of pleasure,

Why is thy science exercis'd alone

In festivals, on hymeneal days,

And in the full assemblies of the happy?

Ah! how much rather should we court thy skill

In sorrow's gloomy season, to diffuse

Thy smooth allurements through the languid ear

Of self-devour'd affliction, and delude

The wretched from their sadness.

A COLCHIAN.

Let us melt

In tuneful accents flowing to our woes,

That so Medea may at least reflect,

She is not singly wretched. Let her hear

Our elegies, whose measur'd moan records

Our friends forsaken, and our country lost;

That she no longer to her sole distress,

Her deep-revolving spirit may confine,

But by our sorrows may relieve her own.

FIRST PART OF THE MUSIC.

A COLCHIAN. [IAMBICS.]

Ye stately battlements and tow'rs,

Imperial Corinth's proud defence;

Thou citadel, whose dewy top

The clouds in fleecy mantles fold,

Projecting o'er the briny foam

An awful shadow, where the might

Of Neptune urges either shore,

And this contracted isthmus forms:

Ah! why your glories to admire

Do we repining Colchians stand,

Ill-fated strangers! on the banks

Of silver-water'd Phasis born.

A PHAEACIAN. [TROCHAICS.]

Pride of art, majestic columns,

Which beneath the sacred weight

Of that god's refulgent mansion

Lift your flow'r-insculptur'd heads;

Oh! ye marble-channell'd fountains,

Which the swarming city cool,

And, as art directs your murmurs,

Warble your obedient rills:

You our eyes obscur'd by sorrow

View unconscious of your grace,

Mourning still our lost Phaeacia,

Long-remember'd, native isle.

A PHAEACIAN. [IAMBICS.]

O that on fam'd Peneus' banks

The nymphs of Pelion had bemoan'd

Their shady haunts to ashes turn'd

By heav'n's red anger! hateful pines,

Which form'd thy well-compacted sides,

O Argo fatal to our peace.

Thou never then through Adria's wave

Hadst reach'd Phaeacia's blissful shore,

Nor good Alcinoüs the hand

Of Jason with Medea join'd,

Nor sent us weeping from our homes,

Her luckless train, to share her grief.

SECOND PART.

A PHAEACIAN. [TROCHAICS.]

Known recesses, where the echoes

Through the hollow-winding vale,

And the hill's retentive caverns

Tun'd their voices from our songs;

Shade-encircled, verdant levels,

Where the downy turf might charm

Weary feet to joyous dances

Mix'd with madrigals and pipes:

O ye unforgotten pleasures,

Pleasures of our tender youth,

You we never shall revisit,

Ill-exchang'd for scenes of woe.

A COLCHIAN.

From the polish'd realms of Greece,

Where the arts and muses reign,

Truth and justice are expell'd.

Here from palaces and tow'rs

Snowy-vested faith is fled;

While beneath the shining roofs

Falshood stalks in golden robes.

Dreary Caucasus! again

Take us to thy frozen breast;

Let us shiver on thy ridge,

Ever-during pile of ice

Gather'd from the birth of time!

A PHAEACIAN.

Cheering breeze with sportive pinion

Gliding o'er the crisped main,

With our tresses thou shalt wanton

On our native sands no more.

Fountains, whose melodious waters,

Cooling our Phaeacian grots,

Oft our eyes to sweetest slumber

With their lulling falls beguil'd;

We have chang'd your soothing warble

For the doleful moan of woe,

And our peaceful moss deserting

Found a pillow thorn'd with care.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIRST.

JASON advancing from the end of the stage, THEANO on one side, MEDEA in the grove.

THEANO.

THE princely steps of Jason are in sight.

He scarce conjectures, that th' indignant breast

Of her, he injures, pours from yonder shades

Its high-ton'd anguish. Yet, illustrious false one,

What stinging thoughts distort thy manly frame!

How have thy gestures lost their wonted grace

In this keen struggle with upbraiding conscience!

Thou soon before that inward judge arraign'd

Shalt hear me plead thy wrong'd Medea's cause.

This is the crisis— Too complacent hero,

By pride untutor'd, though misled by error,

Thou wilt be calm and gentle to rebuke.

JASON.

Press'd by a father's absolute decree,

Solicited by Corinth's potent lord,

Aw'd with the specious sound of public good,

I have consented, and the hour is nigh.

Oh! in some future hour of sad reflection

May not my heart with self-reproach confess,

This plea of public welfare was ambition;

And filial duty was a feeble tie

To authorise the breach of sacred vows.

MEDEA in the grove.

Ungrateful Jason!

JASON.

Whence proceeds this voice?

MEDEA in the grove.

O fire of light, thou seest my wrongs.

JASON.

Again?

Imagination pregnant with remorse

In sounds unreal yields its birth of terror.

MEDEA in the grove.

Ye arbiters of oaths, and plighted faith,

O Jove and Themis, hear!

JASON.

It is a voice!

Resembling hers, when she alas! is far,

No mockery of fancy.

Leans against the scene.

THEANO advancing.

On his cheek

Health seems to wither. O'er his shaded sight

The shiv'ring eye-lids close. A creeping tremor

O'erspreads his fading lips, and dewy limbs.

Bless'd be these signals of returning virtue.

Hail! prince. Why stand'st thou listning? What alarms thee?

JASON.

An awful murmur from offended heav'n

Through yonder branches issu'd in a voice,

Which chill'd my spirit, and unnerv'd my strength.

THEANO.

What didst thou hear?

JASON.

Medea's well-known accents

Thrice did the vocal prodigy repeat,

Though seas divide her from these faithless arms.

THEANO.

There is no need of prodigy. Meer nature

In thy own breast will startle, when thou know'st,

It was Medea's self, who call'd on Jason.

JASON.

Herself?

THEANO.

The injur'd daughter of Aeetes,

But newly-wafted from Thessalia's shore,

Thou may'st discover through those parting boughs;

Where she is seated near the fountain's brink

With her pale cheek reclining on the altar.

JASON looking on the grove.

Stern deities of vengeance, and of justice!

Now pass your sentence, Nemesis and Themis!

My ill-wrought web of hated life unravel,

Which was not wove for happiness.

THEANO.

Be patient.

JASON.

Peculiar woes through ev'ry stage of being

Were Jason's portion. Early I beheld

My father's crown usurp'd. My youth subjected

To an insidious tyrant was devoted

A sacrifice in Colchis—So he hop'd,

And I wish now!—I triumph'd—Glory follow'd,

The source of new calamity to me.

Where is that glory? Serving selfish kings,

Abetting falshood, perjury and fraud.

THEANO.

Turn thy attention from thy own distress

To feel, what others suffer by thy frailty,

Thy wife and off-spring. Listen.

JASON.

I obey.

THEANO.

How could'st thou lead this all-excelling princess

From clime to clime, th' associate in thy toils,

To fall the victim in a foreign land

Of those unrighteous statutes, which appoint

Imperious husbands masters of divorce;

How think, th' establish'd practice of the Greeks,

Or all, which varnish'd policy might plead,

Could e'er absolve thee from a solemn tie

With such uncommon obligations bound

By those superior, those unwritten laws,

Which honour whispers to the conscious heart?

JASON.

O venerable woman, lend thy aid.

THEANO.

Attone thy fault. Repentance is heroic,

And holds its rank among the manly virtues.

JASON.

Yes, I renounce Creüsa, and her kingdom.

Yet see this breast with new-born terror beat.

Not all my trials through unnumber'd dangers

From monsters, famine, from the raging deep,

And dark-brow'd care have so confirm'd my courage,

But that I tremble at th' impending conflict.

I dread that scorn and fury, whose excess

May kill repentance, and provoke destruction.

SCENE THE SECOND.

THEANO, JASON and LYCANDER

LYCANDER.

The king, Theano, summons thee before him.

THEANO.

What time?

LYCANDER.

This instant.

THEANO.

I obey his pleasure.

JASON.

Thou wilt not leave me.

THEANO.

Thou hast heard this summons.

Heed my last words. Maintain thy just resolves.

Lycander, let thy conduct leave no room

For my reproaches, and the wrath of Juno.

LYCANDER.

Fear not; thy counsels shall be treasur'd here.

SCENE THE THIRD.

JASON and LYCANDER.

LYCANDER.

I see a sudden change. My single charge

I will deliver, and forbear enquiry.

Long have I sought thee, prince. The royal Aeson

Is now in Corinth, and will soon accost thee.

JASON.

My father here? Why, multiply distress,

Accumulate perplexity and shame

On my devoted head, ye righteous pow'rs!

LYCANDER.

Prince, he is near; and I return to Creon.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

JASON and AESON.

JASON.

Amaz'd, distracted, tortur'd, I retain

My veneration here. O sacred head,

What from thy peaceful habitation calls

Thy silver hairs to these abodes of woe?

Or com'st thou wrapt in sable to lament

Our mutual errors, and dishonour'd names?

AESON.

Why I am here, why bearing this apparel,

Too soon will Jason know. But first reply;

Why on the sea's waste margin was my son

Observ'd to trace his solitary path;

When Corinth pauses in her gen'ral gladness,

Her choral songs and minstrelsy suspending

For Jason's absence?

JASON.

Better she should wait,

Whole ages wait, than justice be suspended,

And the return of honour be unwelcom'd.

AESON.

Can I interpret these mysterious words?

JASON.

Hast thou not heard, my father, that Medea

Weeps in that bow'r, invoking Jove and Themis

To witness what returns, she meets from Jason?

AESON.

What most I dreaded. Then my aged limbs

Must wear these garments still unchang'd, thy country,

Thy friends, thy father's house unceasing mourn.

The woes of exile more severe, than time,

Indent the surrows deeper on these brows▪

JASON.

The woes of exile?

AESON.

Yes, the race of Pelias

Force me to Corinth. Young Acastus reigns.

The gen'rous Creon promises his aid;

That aid will Jason cruelly prohibit?

JASON.

Then we begin to reap the bitter harvest

From seeds, which selfish policy had sown.

When I was hurry'd to these fatal walls,

And, gall'd with jealous fear, Medea left thee;

Heav'n in that period from the roll of fortune

Eras'd our titles, and the with'ring scepter

Shrunk from thy grasp.

AESON.

Nay look not thus entranc'd.

What draws thy eye?

JASON.

She rises from the grove,

A Sun disfigur'd by a mist of sorrow

Rais'd from our crime. Awake thee—What remains,

But that we fall before our known protectress,

Confessing both in Jove's offended sight,

How much of weak inconstancy hath stain'd

My name of hero, what ignoble guile

Disgrac'd thy regal head?

AESON.

And who must save

Iolcos?

JASON.

She. Medea's gen'rous wisdom,

Which in itself contains the strength of armies,

And quell'd old Pelias, can dethrone the son.

AESON.

What frenzy guides thee? Follow me to Creon.

JASON.

Rest thou with me.

AESON.

Inhuman! dost thou covet

To see my age and dignity revil'd?

I charge thee, follow.

JASON.

Riveted, I wait,

As if congenial with this rock I grew

From its foundations, till Medea come.

AESON.

Revolter! she is coming— But my eye

Shall not be far. Remember, thou dost hazard

Thy country's love, perhaps thy father's too.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

JASON apart, MEDEA, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

JASON.

How shall I face her injur'd worth, how chuse

The most auspicious moment to accost her?

MEDEA.

Why have I science to command the moon,

To draw the spirits from the realms of night,

And trace the hidden pow'rs of baneful nature?

Why am I wise, unless to feel my sorrows

With sharper sensibility, and prove,

How weak is wisdom struggling with despair?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Its succour yet solicit. Wisdom smooths

Each thorny path, and Virtue is her sister.

MEDEA.

Old man, be silent. Hath Medea's grief

The leisure now to hear thy moral tale?

No, let me loath my being, curse the sun,

My bright forefather, and upbraid the heav'ns,

That I was ever born. I will exclaim;

I will demand, ye unrelenting pow'rs,

Why your injustice terrifies the earth

With such an image of distress, as mine.

JASON.

This interview I see in all its terrors;

But further pause will turn suspence to madness.

Medea—I am come. . . .

MEDEA.

And dar'st thou come

With that unmatch'd ingratitude and falshood

To face the constant worth, thou now betray'st?

JASON.

I come to lay my errors in thy view.

MEDEA.

No, to my view display Creüsa's beauty;

Dwell on her merit, who excels Medea.

JASON.

The deity presiding o'er that temple

I call to witness, that my father's pleasure. . . .

MEDEA.

And dost thou urge thy father, thou perfidious?

Thy father!—Oh! that I had been thus wise,

And ne'er forgot the duty of a child.

Thy father gave thee a precarious being,

In its first flight of glory doom'd to fall

Fresh in its prime a victim to oblivion,

Had not I sav'd and borne thee to renown.

JASON.

Yes, Jason's life and glory are thy gifts.

MEDEA.

I gave thee too my love, my virgin love,

My friends, my country, my unspotted fame,

My joy, my peace, all, all on thee bestow'd;

What could a father more? Him too my pow'r

Snatch'd from oppression, and his trech'rous brother,

Usurping Pelias slew, that cruel Pelias,

Who on thy youth impos'd the dang'rous toil,

Whence I preserv'd thee— But, my wrath, be still.

Inconstant, base alike, both son and sire

Deserve my scorn.

JASON.

Shall contumelious harshness

Blot those perfections from the sun deriv'd,

And not one moment to thy wisdom yield,

That thou may'st hear me?

MEDEA.

No, thou most ingrate

Of all, who e'er forgot their benefactors.

When the fam'd Argo fraught with Grecian princes

Pierc'd with its beak the sandy verge of Phasis,

What daring hand, but mine, their trophies rais'd?

The golden fleece amid th' enchanted grove

Had hung untouch'd beside its scaly guardian;

Wild dogs and vultures had devour'd your limbs;

Your bones had whiten'd on the Colchian strand.

I fearless stept between the narrow bounds,

Which parted your devoted lives from fate,

With mystic spels entranc'd the sleepless dragon,

Bent to the yoke the brazen-footed bulls,

And gave you safety, victory and fame.

JASON.

I own thy merits; and the deep remembrance. . .

MEDEA.

Forever be detested that remembrance.

Curs'd be the skill, which fram'd your fatal bark,

Accurs'd the gale, which fill'd her spreading canvas,

But doubly curs'd the hour, the hour of ruin,

When first I view'd that smiling, trech'rous form,

And fondly trusted to the fair delusion.

O that amid the terrors of enchantment,

When for thy sake profoundest hell was open'd,

Some fiend had whirl'd me to the desart pole;

Or that the earth dividing with my charms

Low, as her central cavern, had entomb'd me.

JASON.

I feel thy anguish, daughter of Aeetes,

Which would o'erwhelm me, had I less to offer,

Than my repentant heart.

MEDEA.

Thy perjur'd heart

Foul with ingratitude and guilt. Avaunt,

And give it thy Creüsa; I despise thee.

JASON.

Think, who I am. Though criminal I stand

And mourn my fault, forget not, I am Jason

By fame in brightest characters recorded.

Deserving thy reproaches, I endur'd them;

But sure the lustre of my name is proof

Against contempt.

MEDEA.

The recompence of falshood.

JASON.

Hold, I conjure thee!— Nay, I will be heard.

When first I sail'd for Corinth, all my purpose

Was to establish by a league with Creon

Th' unstable throne of Thessaly, since crush'd

By fierce Acastus. Aeson's strict injunction

To wed Creüsa follow'd my arrival;

When thou wert distant from my sight, and Creon

Would grant his friendship. . . . .

MEDEA.

But by thy disgrace.

JASON,

Impatient woman!

MEDEA.

Could a king's protection

Be rank'd with mine, thou weakly-perjur'd man?

JASON.

Thou shalt not stop me by th' immortal gods!

I will proceed— Intemp'rate passion stifles

Her breathless voice— Oh! majesty! Oh! wisdom!

Oh! features once divine! how long shall rage

Despoil your grace? No other form of beauty,

No qualities, or talents to thy own

Have I preferr'd. By empire's glaring bubble,

By policy's ensnaring voice misled,

Or by mistaken duty to a parent,

I swerv'd from sacred faith. At thy approach

Light flashes through my error; to thy feet

Contrition brings me no ignoble suppliant:

The scourge of tyrants, vanquisher of monsters,

Thy instrument of glory now most glorious,

That he subdues himself, implores thy pardon.

Oh! unadvis'd!— Obdurate!— While I sue,

Thy unforgiving brow returns disdain.

Think of thy children!

MEDEA.

Traitor, dar'st thou name them?

JASON.

Beware; destruction with a hunter's speed

Pursues us both. Inextricable snares

Are spreading round us— Ha! be calm— Provoke

Ill fate no further— Weigh in wisdom's balance

The pow'rful obligations, which assail'd me.

MEDEA.

Can they be weigh'd with conquest, life and fame,

The vast profusion of my bounty on thee,

Thou weak, thou blind, insensible and base?

No, my superior soul shall stoop no more.

Though once from foul defeat and death I sav'd thee,

I will not raise thee from thy grov'ling falshood.

Let fortune's whole malignity pursue me,

I and my children wretched, as we may be,

Outcast, derided by the barb'rous herd,

Spurn'd by th' unpitying proud, with grim despair,

With beggary and famine our companions

Will wander through th' inhospitable world,

Nor ev'n amidst our complicated woes

E'er think of thee, perfidious, but with scorn.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

JASON and AESON.

JASON.

Then let the tempest roar, tyrannic woman,

The billows rise in mountains o'er thy head.

AESON.

Well, thou hast seen her; while thy father's eye

Ak'd at the low submission of a hero,

Who with unmollify'd disdain was spurn'd.

Say, will my gentle son persist to court

The fellowship of fury, and abide

The acrimonious taunt, the settled frown,

The still-renew'd upbraiding? Will my Jason

For this to deathless obloquy abandon

His name of hero, while his arm rejects

A proffer'd aid to reinstate his father,

Redeem his country, and refresh his laurels

With want of action fading?

JASON.

There, O Mars,

Thou dost provide a banquet for despair.

AESON.

No, for thy valour, son, a feast of glory.

Come, leave this melancholy spot. Return

With me to joy.

JASON.

I go— but never more

Speak to thy son of joy. My soul foregoes

All gentle thoughts. Its sad relief is horror

From the grim pow'r of homicide and ravage.

O that this ev'ning, lighted by the stars,

And glimpse of armour, I might turn my back

On Corinth's bulwarks; that the trumpet's clangor,

The shrill-mouth'd clarion, and the deep-ton'd horn,

The groans of slaughter, and the crash of spears

Might blend their discord for my nuptial song.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.

COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS from the grove, and looking on JASON, as he quits the stage.

A COLCHIAN. [Solemn RECITATIVE.]

Thou, who didst yoke the brazen-footed bulls,

And fearless guide the adamantine plough,

Which Vulcan labour'd, o'er the direful soil

Sown with the serpent's teeth, whence crested helms,

And spears high-brandish'd by the earth-born race

For thy encounter pierc'd the crumbling mold;

Thou conqueror, beware: more dang'rous foes

Doom'd to subdue thee in that palace wait.

A PHAEACIAN. [TROCHAICS.]

Soft, alluring wiles are there

To seduce thee from the paths

Trod by godlike steps alone,

Paths of virtue, paths of praise.

Colchian monsters, Syren's songs

Might thy mortal frame destroy;

These will kill thy glorious name,

Matchless Jason, then beware.

A COLCHIAN. [Solemn RECITATIVE.]

Thou yet untainted hero, Ah! reflect,

That keenest sorrow, poverty, or pain

Are light and gentle to the bitter darts

Thrice steep'd in gall, which Nemesis directs

Against his bosom, who by merit pass'd

Once drew th' enchanting melody of praise,

Then forfeiting the sweet report of fame

O'er his irrevocable loss repines.

A PHAEACIAN. [TROCHAICS.]

Shall the nymphs of Tempe's vale,

Who in rural lays record

Thy persuasive love, that won

Kind Medea to thy aid,

Shall they change th' applauding strain?

Shall the discord of reproach

Wound thy ear accustom'd long

To the music of renown?

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

THEANO and the FIRST COLCHIAN.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

HOPE in its bud was blasted by her anger.

THEANO.

Unhappy anger! but her wrongs are great;

Nor is my pity less. Instruct me, Colchian,

Was she not fam'd for hospitable deeds?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Oft hath her known benignity preserv'd

The Grecian strangers on our barb'rous coast.

THEANO.

Yet now a Grecian prince denies her shelter.

Well, introduce me to her.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Restless anguish

Will soon transport her hither. Look, she comes.

Here let us watch some interval of calmness.

THEANO.

Are those her children?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Yes, from Jason sprung.

THEANO.

They too with intermingling tears enhance

The piteous scene. Thou fair and stately tree,

Who once so proudly didst o'ertop the forest,

What cruel hand despoils thee of thy honours?

Now dost thou shew, as blasted by the lightning,

With all thy tender branches with'ring round.

SCENE THE SECOND.

THEANO and the FIRST COLCHIAN apart. MEDEA, her TWO CHILDREN, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

ELDEST CHILD.

Why fly'st thou from us? Wherefore dost thou frown,

Whene'er we name, or ask to see our father?

MEDEA.

You have no father.

ELDEST CHILD.

When we left Iolcos,

Didst thou not tell us, he was here in Corinth?

Now we have pass'd the frightful sea, what hinders,

But we may find him?

MEDEA.

Never find him more

To you a parent, or to me a husband.

ELDEST CHILD.

Alas! thou weep'st.

MEDEA.

You too must learn to weep,

Ye destin'd wand'rers in the vale of mourning.

Why do you lift your infant eyes to me?

Your helpless mother cannot guard your childhood,

Nor bid neglect and sorrow stand aloof.

I once had parents— Ye endearing names!

How my torn heart with recollection bleeds!

You too perhaps o'erflow your aged cheeks,

Rend from your heads the venerable snow

Oft, as your lost Medea is recall'd,

And for a hapless off-spring mourn like me.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Heart-breaking sorrow now succeeds to rage.

Turn, royal mistress; see the holy priestess.

MEDEA.

Hail! most humane.

THEANO.

To Juno render praise.

MEDEA.

She owes me refuge. Prompted first by Juno,

I left my native Phasis, and convey'd

Back to her favour'd clime the golden fleece.

Thy part was all humanity.

THEANO.

Sage princess,

Hear me divulge the menaces of Creon

To drive thee hence. Expect his presence soon.

Fear not his anger. Warranted by Juno,

By my high function, by my nature more,

I gave thee, I continue my protection.

MEDEA.

Turn to these infants thy benignant looks.

Them to secure from trouble and the terrors,

Which gather closely on the steps of time,

Is all their mother's care; at whose entreaty

Do thou receive their innocence in charge:

But leave Medea to her own protection.

ELDEST CHILD.

Our father long hath left us. By thy side,

And in thy bosom we had comfort still.

Wilt thou forsake us?

MEDEA.

We will meet again.

Remove them from me. I can bear no longer

To view those mirrors, which reflect the image

Of my distress, and multiply my pains.

THEANO.

Weep not, my children.

MEDEA.

Hide their melting softness,

Lest they dissolve the vigor, which must save them.

MEDEA continues weeping.

THEANO.

Come, lovely mourners, rest a-while with me.

Come and be practis'd to repeat your vows

For this most wrong'd of mothers. You shall lift

Your blameless hands, sweet supplicants, shall kneel

To nuptial Juno, and to rev'rend Themis,

The arbitress of oaths, and plighted faith.

The dove-like voice of your untainted age,

Thus visited by undeserv'd affliction,

May win their guardian mercy; when the pray'rs

Of man, false man grown reprobate by time

With all the pomp of hecatombs would fail.

SCENE THE THIRD.

MEDEA, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

MEDEA.

Are they withdrawn?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

They are.

MEDEA.

Then, mighty Spirit,

Once more at least thy majesty shall blaze

Such, as thou wert amid th'enchanted wood;

When thou didst summon hell's reluctant pow'rs,

And hell obey'd: when dark'ning, from her car

The moon descended, and the knotted oak

Bent with thy charms, which tam'd the wakeful dragon,

And safety gave to demi-gods and heroes.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Behold the king.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

MEDEA, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS, CREON, LYCANDER and attendants.

MEDEA.

Why comes the king of Corinth

To break upon my sorrows, and to vaunt,

That his injustice is endu'd with pow'r

To grieve Medea?

CREON.

To debate, weak woman,

Is thy known province; to command is mine.

Be seen no longer in the bounds of Corinth.

MEDEA.

And who art thou, dost give Medea law,

And circumscribe the slend'rest spot on earth

Against her passage. Unconfin'd, as winds,

I range with nature to her utmost bounds;

While, as I tread, mankind reveres my steps,

Its hidden pow'rs each element unfolds,

And mightiest heroes anxious for renown

Implore Medea's favour. What is Creon,

Who from the sun's descendant dares withold

The right to hospitality and justice?

CREON.

Not of the number, who revere thy steps,

Or supplicate thy favour; one, whose scepter

Forbids thy residence in Greece. Away;

Range through the snows of Caucasus; return

To Pontic desarts, to thy native wilds:

Among barbarians magnify thy deeds.

This land admits no wand'rer like Medea,

Who with a stranger from her father fled,

Fled from her country, and betray'd them both.

MEDEA.

With him I fled, whom thou wouldst foully draw

Through blackest treason to thy daughter's bed;

And for the rest, if equity, or wisdom

Were Creon's portion, I would plead before him:

But vindicate my actions to a robber,

Who basely watch'd my absence to purloin

My only wealth! my lofty soul disdains it.

CREON.

Hence, while thou may'st, rash woman, ere thou prove,

How strong the awful image of the gods

Is stampt on monarchs, and thou feel my wrath

Swift in destruction like the bolt of Jove.

MEDEA.

Dost thou recount thy fables to Medea,

The ideot tale, which cheats the gaping vulgar,

To her, who knows the secret source of things?

Behold this comely image of the gods.

This violator of the holiest ties,

Whom the dull hand of undiscerning chance

Hath deck'd in purple robes, and pageant gold,

Resembles much the majesty of heav'n.

CREON.

Thy bare expulsion shall not now attone.

I will stand forth th' avenger of Aeetes

On his false daughter; for thy crimes in Colchis

Vindictive furies in this distant region,

Shame, chastisement and insult shall o'ertake thee,

Spoil that fair body, humble that fell heart;

Till, as with bitt'rest agony it breaks,

Thou curse its wild temerity, which brav'd

The pond'rous hand of majesty incens'd.

MEDEA.

Ha! thou vain-boaster, hast thou yet to learn,

That I can rock the iron throne of Pluto;

Can waft thee struggling to Rhiphaean crags,

Where thou shalt rave and foam and gnash thy teeth;

Where frost shall parch thee, where the clouds shall scatter

Their storms around thee, whirl in sportive air

Thy gorgeous robe, thy diadem and scepter:

While I— Oh! fruitless, unsubstantial pow'r!

Must still continue wretched— Oh! vain threat!

Hath he not torn my Jason from these arms?

What then avails the knowledge of my mind?

Stretch'd on the rack of anguish is my heart.

What spark of wisdom in my breast remains?

All is extinguish'd there— Oh! Jason! Jason!

Is supported by her women.

CREON to LYCANDER.

Thou seest the haughty sorceress abash'd

Before a monarch's persevering frown.

LYCANDER aside.

Most injur'd woman!

CREON.

Go, transport her hence,

Ere she revive.

LYCANDER.

The multitude already

Begins to murmur; were this holy place

Defil'd by force, their zeal would swell to madness.

Perhaps this princess for her wisdom fam'd

May be persuaded to abandon Corinth.

And she revives with milder looks.

MEDEA aside.

Pride, pride,

For once be wise; in lowliness disguise thee,

That thou may'st rise to vengeance. King of Corinth,

I only crave three hours to quit thy borders.

CREON to LYCANDER.

If she exceed that slender space of time,

Force shall remove her from my loathing sight.

LYCANDER to MEDEA, while CREON is going.

This contest, princess, thou hast wisely clos'd.

Three hours elaps'd, expect me to return

Thy safe conductor to the kingdom's frontier.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

MEDEA, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Thou dost not droop. This tyrant's empty threats

Thy very breath could dissipate like clouds,

Which for a-while some hideous form assume,

Then pass away dissolv'd to fleeting vapor.

I too will aid thee. By thy father's sister

I was held dear, by Circé, pow'rful queen,

Who taught me various spels and incantations.

MEDEA.

Go then, and bring my wand, that potent rod,

Which grew a branch of ebony o'ershading

The throne of Pluto; sever'd thence, and dipt

Thrice in the cold of Lethe's sleeping lake,

By Hecaté on Circé was bestow'd,

By her on me to still the winds and floods,

Night's drowsy curtains o'er the sky to draw,

And all its active fires entrance to rest.

Leave us apart. Retire, my faithful virgins,

Who share so kindly in Medea's woes.

I would not pierce your gentle hearts with terror.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

MEDEA and the FIRST COLCHIAN.

MEDEA waving her wand.

First rise, ye shades impervious to the sight;

And you, ye sable-skirted clouds, descend:

Us and our mystic deeds with night surround.

The stage is darkened. [IAMBICS.]

Thou, by whose pow'r the magic song

Charms from its orb th' unwilling moon,

Controlls the rapid planet's speed,

And dims the constellation's fires;

While sounding torrents stop and sleep,

While fountain-nymphs in dread withold

Their mazy tribute from the meads,

And stiff'ning serpents hear and die:

Terrific deity, whose name,

And altar stain'd with human blood

On Tauric cliffs the Scythian wild,

And fell Sarmatian tribes adore;

[TROCHAICS.]

Wreath'd in snakes, and twining boughs

Gather'd from infernal oaks,

Which o'er Pluto's portal hung

Shed a second night on hell;

In thy raven-tinctur'd stole,

Grasping thy tremendous brand,

With thy howling train around,

Awful Hecaté, ascend.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

By the pitchy streams of Styx,

Lethe's mute and lazy flood,

By the deathful vapor sent

From Avernus' steaming pool;

By th' eternal sigh, which heaves

With Cocytus' mournful wave,

By the Phlegethontic blaze,

Direful goddess, hear and rise.

[IAMBICS.]

Or if, where discord late hath heap'd

Her bloody hecatombs to Mars,

Thou sweeping o'er the mangled slain

Dost tinge thy feet in sanguin dew;

Ah! leave a-while the vultures shriek,

The raven croaking o'er the dead,

The midnight wolf's insatiate howl,

And hither turn thy solemn pace.

The winds in magic horror bound

Shall at thy presence cease to breathe,

No thunder-teeming cloud approach,

The hoarse and restless surge be dumb.

MEDEA.

No more. The strong-constraining spell hath tam'd

The restif blast; the pliant leaves are fix'd;

The fountains rest; th' oblivious birds are hush'd;

And dead the billows on the silent beach.

Begone— She comes— I feel the rocking ground.

Its entrails groan— Its shiv'ring surface parts.

Scarce can Aeetes' child the sight endure.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.

MEDEA, and HECATÉ rising in long, black garments, with a wreath of snakes, and oaken boughs on her head, and a torch in her hand.

MEDEA.

O my propitious and congenial goddess,

Who thy mysterious science hast diffus'd

Of potent herbs, and necromantic songs

Through my capacious bosom, who so long

Hast been assistant to Medea's triumphs,

Now thou behold'st me vanquish'd by despair.

HECATÉ.

I know thy suff'rings, daughter; but to close

The wounds of anguish, and asswage despair

Is not the task of hell.

MEDEA.

Then give me vengeance.

HECATÉ.

On whom?

MEDEA.

Creüsa?— No?— My high revenge

O'erleaps a trifling maid. Old Aeson— No.

He is my hero's father. But for Creon. . . . .

HECATÉ.

The hour is nigh, when yonder flood will rage,

This rock be loosen'd, and its structures nod;

Then shall the fury, discord, and red zeal

Thrice steep'd in Stygian fires avenge thy wrongs.

Farewel.

MEDEA.

A moment stay— My yielding heart

Must ask— Will Jason ever more be kind.

HECATÉ.

Search not thy fate.

MEDEA.

Unfold it, I enjoin thee

By him, thou dread'st, by Demogorgon's name.

HECATÉ.

Against thyself, unhappy, thou prevail'st.

Ere night's black wheels begin their gloomy course,

What, thou dost love, shall perish by thy rage,

Nor thou be conscious, when the stroke is giv'n;

Then a despairing wand'rer must thou trace

The paths of sorrow in remotest climes.

SCENE THE EIGHTH.

MEDEA.

Destroy my love! By me shall Jason die?

Oh! insupportable! O pitying Juno!

Assist me sinking to the ground with anguish.

SCENE THE NINTH.

MEDEA on the ground, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

FIRST COLCHIAN entring.

The streaming purple of the western Sun

Glows on these tow'rs and pinnacles again,

Prevailing o'er the darkness, which the wand

Of our sage mistress rais'd— Dejecting sight!

Thy faithful servant can refrain no longer,

But tears must wash the furrows of his cheeks.

MEDEA.

Ah! how much more my eyes should stream in torrents!

Ah! how much stronger should my bosom heave,

And sound its agonies in bitter groans

To the remorseless gods! Destroy my Jason!

Starting up.

The dear, false hero! Perish first my art.

FIRST PHAEACIAN.

How oft have perjur'd lovers been recall'd

By strong enchantment? Check these vain complaints.

Hast thou not magic to constrain this wand'rer

Back to thy arms?

MEDEA.

I have, but scorn the arts,

Which may command his person, not his love.

No, fly to Jason. Let the only charm

Be soft persuasion to attract him hither.

O he is gentle, as the summer's breeze,

With looks and gestures fashion'd by the graces.

The messenger be thou, discreet and good.

Medea's pride shall stoop.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

I go— though hopeless.

Aside.

MEDEA.

Mean time will I to yonder wood return,

And some deep-shaded receptacle chuse.

There, wrapt in darkness, shall my suff'ring soul

The sense of all its injuries disburthen

In secret murmurs, till its rage be spent.

SCENE THE TENTH.

COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

A COLCHIAN. [CRETICS.]

Native floods rough with ice,

Rushing down mountain-sides,

Whirling thence broken rocks;

[TROCHAICS.]

Your discordant waves, that sweep

Harshly o'er their flinty beds,

Yield a more alluring sound,

Than the gently-trilling notes

Of the tender Grecian lyre,

Or the swelling strain diffus'd

From the music-breathing flute.

[CRETICS.]

Native groves hoar with frost,

Caverns deep fill'd with night,

Shagged clifts, horror's seat;

[TROCHAICS.]

Oh! to these desiring eyes

Lovely is your gloom, which lives

In remembrance ever dear.

You are brighter, than my thoughts,

Which despondency o'erclouds,

And in these perfidious climes

Expectation cheats no more.

A PHAEACIAN. [CRETICS.]

Torrents swel, tempests rage,

Danger frowns, pain devours,

Grief consumes, man betrays;

[TROCHAICS.]

Such our doom in ev'ry clime:

Yet among the thorns of life

Hope attends to scatter flow'rs;

And Credulity, her child,

Still with kind imposture smooths

Heaving trouble, and imparts

Moments, which suspend despair.

[CRETICS.]

Goddess bland, soothing hope,

In thy smile I confide,

And believe, Jason comes.

[TROCHAICS.]

All, I see, delights my eye;

Ev'ry found enchants my ear;

Those rude-featur'd crags are gay;

Turning to the sea.

Winds in notes harmonious blow;

Hoarsest billows murmur joy;

And my long-forsaken home

Wakes the plaintive muse no more.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE THE FIRST.

JASON and the FIRST COLCHIAN.

JASON.

WHY am I summon'd?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

But once more to greet her.

JASON.

And be the mark of scorn.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Remind thee, hero,

Of all thy gen'rous labours ne'er deny'd,

But oft repeated to restore the wretched.

Shall thy distress'd Medea be the first,

Thou dost refuse to aid?

JASON.

It is too late.

She cast me from her, and we now are strangers.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

I have been long a traveller with time,

And through unnumber'd evils have I noted

Those born of anger to be most deplor'd.

Thou look'st no longer on that mutual care,

Your children's welfare. In the wrathful Jason

Benignity is lost, ev'n nature dead

In the fond father.

JASON.

When I nam'd our children,

Her ear was deafen'd, and her scornful tongue

Was sharpen'd into outrage.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

See them here,

The lively patterns of their mother's graces,

And sharers in misfortune.

SCENE THE SECOND.

JASON, the FIRST COLCHIAN and the CHILDREN.

ELDEST CHILD.

Art thou found

At last, my father? In thy search we pass'd

Through frightful waters, and in roaring winds.

Come to our mother, who of thee complains;

And with a promise never more to leave us

Speak comfort to her.

JASON.

Comfort!

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Dost thou shrink

To see these pledges of a love like hers?

Oh! thou obdurate, who hast thrown the beauties

Of virtue from thee in thy youthful season,

When ev'ry soft sensation is most warm,

To clasp the cold deformity of guilt!

I have no off-spring— Must an old man's eyes

Teach thine their tender lesson? Must a heart,

Which time and ills and care might well have fear'd,

Teach thee affection, and a parent's feeling?

JASON.

Support me rather, than depress me, Colchian.

I sink— My soul dissolving in affection

Hath quite unmann'd me.

ELDEST CHILD.

Dost thou grieve to see us?

JASON.

No, my poor boys. My spirit bows before you

In love and rev'rence. These indeed subsist

A common care exacting all regard.

What shall I say— Not cruel would I seem,

Not ev'n severe— Yet, Colchian, let me ask?

Will she. . . .

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Command her; she is all submission.

JASON.

Amid the woes of separating parents

Who like the father can protect the off-spring?

Will she commit them to my charge, that comfort,

Prosperity and honour be their portion?

ELDEST CHILD.

Ah! do not take us from our mother's arms.

YOUNGEST CHILD.

From our kind mother. Leave us.

ELDEST CHILD.

Leave us here

To weep with her.

JASON.

How constant are these children!

But they were never harrass'd by her scorn.

SCENE THE THIRD.

JASON, the CHILDREN, MEDEA, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

MEDEA stopping short.

The man, who knew, and yet despis'd my worth,

I see before me— Still, thou restif heart,

Still dost thou rise tumultuous in my bosom?

Oh! thou must bend.

JASON.

Well, daughter of Aeetes;

Lo! I am here obedient to thy call.

MEDEA.

Once was the time, when Jason would have come

Uncall'd, unprompted, but by love alone.

Why do I bring the wasted glass of joy

Back to my view!— Oh! torture of remembrance!

Oh! Jason! Jason!

JASON.

Speak.

MEDEA.

I cannot speak.

JASON aside.

My spirit yields— this mute distress o'erwhelms me.

MEDEA.

Is it decreed to separate thy name

From mine for ever.— First to all restore me,

Which I relinquish'd for thee, to my country,

The veneration, which that country paid me,

My injur'd parents, and their lost affection.

To my untainted, virgin fame restore me,

My once untroubled, unreproaching thoughts.

Impossible— Then hear, and yet be just.

JASON aside.

Oh! that this morning she had thus address'd me!

MEDEA.

Not love alone, not Hymen's common ties,

But fame and conquest, mutual toils and hardships,

All, which is marvellous and great, conspir'd

To make us one. What stars in distant skies,

What seas, what shores unvisited before

Have we not seen together? And what perils

Could each inhospitable clime present,

From which Medea hath not sav'd her Jason?

Our toils at length surmounted, must we part?

My lord— My husband— Father of these boys!

Shame, anguish, desperation rush upon me!

They bind my heart in adamantine woes!

They weigh me down— They bear me to the earth.

Kneeling with the children.

Thus low behold the issue of the sun

Imploring pity of the man, who scorn'd her.

JASON.

Canst thou, O Juno, from thy neighb'ring temple

View this illustrious suff'rer at my feet,

Nor swift destruction from thy altar show'r

On my perfidious head? Why rather, goddess,

Who hast thy thunder like thy husband, Jove,

Didst thou not blast me, when, by furies guided,

I ratify'd but now th' unhallow'd contract.

MEDEA rising.

What hast thou said?

JASON.

Creüsa— is my wife.

He starts at Medea's looks, then fixes his eyes stedfastly upon her, and after some time proceeds.

Medea— Ha! Have sense and motion left her?

Her colour dies, which once outshone the morn.

Those radiant eyes, whose majesty proclaim'd

The sun's own progeny, withdraw their lustre.

Oh! thou most injur'd, utter thy complaints;

Give words to anger, and to sorrow tears.

MEDEA.

Astonishment! What prodigy is there?

Look yonder.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Go— go, children, to the temple;

Avoid this sight.

The children are led off by a Phaeacian to the temple.

MEDEA.

What wonderful appearance

Floats on the main, and stems the lofty surge?

JASON.

O execrable perfidy! which fills

The loveliest eyes with tears, the noblest heart

With pangs, the most enlighten'd mind with madness.

MEDEA.

See, where yon snowy concave in its bosom

Collecting all the motion of the winds

Drives the huge burthen to th' affrighted shore.

JASON.

O had the flood, she sees in frantic thought,

Ingulph'd that bark!

MEDEA advancing towards him.

What art thou, most presumptuous,

Who dar'st approach the limits of this region?

Hast thou not heard, that bulls with brazen feet,

And sleepless dragons guard the fatal soil?

He hears unterrify'd— I ne'er beheld

Such majesty and grace.

JASON.

Debas'd, deform'd

By guilt's polluting hand!

MEDEA.

He speaks— What music!

He claims the golden fleece— What means this warmth,

Which prompts my hand to give the radiant prize?

But wilt thou prove then constant— ever kind?

I must, I will believe thee.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

What remorse,

What consternation petrify his frame!

And she grows wilder.

MEDEA.

Hark. With flaming throats

The bulls begin to roar. The forest trembles.

And see, the dragon hither points his course.

See, his huge pinions beat the tortur'd air.

His monstrous body rolls the blast before him,

And sails amidst a whirlwind. Dost thou droop?

Be not dismay'd, my hero. Stand behind.

Attend, ye demons, whose contagious breath

Defiles the sun, who chill the fiercest heart,

And lock in drowsy sloth the nerves of strength.

JASON.

Assume thy terrors— Moulder me to dust.

Now call thy demons, whose infernal grasp

May snatch and hurl me to my destin'd pains.

Let me be stretch'd on torn Ixion's wheel,

Or chain'd in burning adamant endure

The tooth of vipers, and the scorpion's sting;

Oh! rather, rather, than behold thy suff'rings.

MEDEA.

Why art thou pale and languid? Thou art safe.

The slumb'ring monster drops his scaly wings.

Thine is the fleece— Medea too is thine.

Jason throws himself back, and is receiv'd by the Colchians.

Confusion and amazement!— Is he vanish'd?

Where am I?— On a rock, a desart cliff,

Which overhangs the unfrequented waves;

No plant, but moss, to hide its craggy sides;

No shelter nigh my tempest-beaten head:

And lo! two infants clinging to my knees,

Who join my grief, and call Medea mother.

O thou false hero, whither art thou fled?

Hark— The wind only answers my complaint,

It is the sea, which murmurs to my groans.

Ha! what art thou, grim shape embru'd with gore?

Why dost thou wave that Stygian torch around?

Art thou Revenge from Tartarus enlarg'd

To aid Medea? Come then, shake thy brand

Before my steps. To perpetrate thy mischief

The winds shall lend their swiftness, hell its fiends,

The sea its fury, and the Sun his flames.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

JASON and the FIRST COLCHIAN.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Resume thy courage.

JASON.

Yes, my soul emerges

From dark confusion, now she knows the worst.

My sight is clear'd, my enterprise resolv'd,

And hope enlarges my advent'rous spirit.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

I hear in wonder, prince. At least prepare thee

To guard Medea in her new distress,

Whom Creon threatens to expel.

JASON.

The priestess

Will be her safeguard, till. . . . .

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Restrain thy speech,

And look behind thee. He is sent from Creon

To drive her hence.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

JASON, the FIRST COLCHIAN and LYCANDER.

JASON.

Lycander!

LYCANDER.

Prince, allow me

With this old Colchian to confer a moment.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Nay, speak aloud.

LYCANDER.

Thou know'st my errand, Colchian.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Yes, if our princess willingly depart not,

Thou wilt by force remove her.

JASON.

Base and impious!

Now should these hands, which yok'd the brazen bulls,

Divide thy limbs, and hurl the mangled fragments

From yonder promontory's brow to feast

The scaly monsters in the flood below,

It were a righteous sacrifice to justice:

But thou art brother to the good Theano.

LYCANDER.

Whom thou dost wrong in me. By her consent,

And on Medea's promise to depart,

I came to guide her with respectful care

To Corinth's verge. Compassion for this princess,

Dread of the king, and rev'rence for the goddess,

With all thy changes, prince, perplex my course;

That through the maze of this eventful day

I ne'er shall tread securely.

JASON.

Nay, Lycander,

If thou art blameless. . . .

LYCANDER.

Stop. The king is here

To widen this confusion.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

JASON, the FIRST COLCHIAN, LYCANDER, CREON and attendants.

CREON entring.

I am told,

That with a pensive mien he left the place,

And join'd a Colchian of Medea's train.

Gods! he is here— disorder'd— with Lycander

And that old stranger— all in sullen silence

At my appearance— Jason— He replies not.

What are your consultations? Speak, Lycander

LYCANDER.

My liege, I cannot, uninform'd like thee.

CREON.

Then, as a king and father, I demand

Of thee, Thessalian hero, why, confus'd

At my approach, thy countenance is fall'n?

JASON.

At thy approach? More formidable pow'rs

Could never awe this heart, which nought hath vanquish'd,

But its own frailties.

CREON.

Visions.

JASON.

Hear with patience.

The tutelary deity of Corinth

Sits here in awful judgment. Virtue pleads,

And pity weeps before her. Thou and I

At this tribunal shew our guilty heads.

Long have we slumber'd on the couch of folly;

Let us awaken from the cheating dream,

Nor each rebuke the other for his weakness,

But acquiesce in Juno's just decree.

I must annul my contract with thy daughter,

And bid her now eternally farewel.

CREON.

Eternally farewel? I dream— Lycander,

Is not Medea gone?

LYCANDER.

My lord, the time. . . .

CREON.

Inactive traitor! Go and seize that fiend.

JASON to CREON.

Hold. Thou esteem'st me still the gentle Jason,

The pliant vassal of my father's will,

And thy ambition. I am chang'd— My heart

Is full of tumult— New-created rage,

Rage at myself, at Aeson too and thee

Now ravages my bosom— Then be counsell'd,

Nor tempt the wild, ungovernable transports

Of one distemper'd with a foul assemblage

Of guilt, despair and shame.

CREON.

Presumptuous boy!

Do thy exploits by sorcery atchiev'd,

Do thy rude trophies from barbarians won

Exalt thy pride to brave a Grecian monarch?

When now, from all inheritance expell'd,

A needy exile, thou hast no support,

But from my throne, whose patronage is granted

To thy imploring father.

JASON.

I reject it,

And own no patron, but my sword and name.

Can I want aid, the argonautic leader?

While Hercules, while Telamon and Peleus,

While sacred Orpheus, and the twins of Leda

Remain unconquer'd to assert my cause.

Why do I measure folly back to folly,

And here degrade my honours and renown

With boasts resembling thine? Farewel forever.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.

LYCANDER, CREON and attendants.

CREON.

Ha! I perceive his purpose. Haste, collect

To one of his attendants.

A faithful band; secure Medea's vessel.

Ye blackest demons of resentment, rise;

March by my side, and brandish you my scepter.

To another of his attendants.

Thou shut the city-gates. Let none depart

Without my licence. I will hold him still,

And cast him prostrate at Creüsa's feet.

SCENE THE EIGHTH.

LYCANDER, CREON, attendants and THEANO.

THEANO.

I heard thy threat'ning voice, O blindly fix'd

In disobedience to the queen of gods.

CREON.

Dar'st thou, sole authress of thy sov'reign's ills,

Confront his anger? First on thee, confed'rate

To Lycander.

With this rebellious, shall my vengeance fall.

By thy design'd misconduct Jason twice

Hath seen Medea.

LYCANDER.

Chance, or heav'n's appointment,

Not my contrivance. . . .

CREON.

Seize and drag him hence;

Low in a dungeon hide him; chain him down

In damps and darkness.

LYCANDER.

Citizens of Corinth,

This place is holy. In the name of Juno

I claim protection.

THEANO.

Universal rev'rence

From your forefathers at the birth of Corinth

Hath guarded still th' inviolable grove.

CREON.

Do ye recoil, ye cowards? Rebel, traitor,

I will assemble those, shall force this refuge,

The seat of priestly craft to aid sedition;

When thou in torture shalt attone thy crime.

THEANO.

Once more I warn thee to revere a goddess.

CREON.

No, I revere a god, the god of thunders.

Jove, thou did'st toil for empire; so shall Creon,

And shew the earth a pattern of thy sway.

For empire thou thy father did'st dethrone,

Thy Titan kindred plunge in deepest hell.

The giant lancing from his hundred hands

A hundred rocks to shake th' Olympian tow'rs

Thou didst with labour vanquish. Shall these shades▪

Which awe the vulgar, shall the ready prey

To ev'ry firebrand, or the woodman's ax

Obstruct a king? No, insolent revolters,

Soon shall you see me lift the bloody scourge

Of chastisement, unsheathe the sword of havoc,

And vindicate my glory.

THEANO.

Impious man!

SCENE THE NINTH.

LYCANDER and THEANO.

THEANO.

Do thou consult thy safety.

LYCANDER.

Be not anxious.

The king's own rashness shall secure Lycander.

Though years may roll on years, ere we again

Shall meet in peace.

SCENE THE TENTH.

LYCANDER, THEANO and JASON.

JASON.

Medea to thy temple

Is fled from all her virgins, who entreat

Thy kind permission to pursue her steps,

Where'er her frenzy leads.

THEANO.

My help is ready.

And to thy guardian care I trust my brother,

Whom Creon threatens with immediate death.

Yet something whispers, something sure divine,

That other clouds of black events will break,

Ere a new morning rise on troubled Corinth,

And we surviving each portentous storm

Derive a sad security from horror.

SCENE THE ELEVENTH.

LYCANDER and JASON.

LYCANDER.

Whate'er this mystic language may import,

Prince, give attention.

JASON.

Speak.

LYCANDER.

Thy only course

Is to embark from Corinth with Medea.

JASON.

It was my secret and determin'd purpose.

LYCANDER.

Nor yet a secret. Our suspicious tyrant,

If he could rule his discontented subjects,

Would stop thy passage. But thy just design

The public shall befriend by me alarm'd

At Creon's threat to violate the grove.

JASON.

Can I requite thee?

LYCANDER.

Let me serve thee first;

Requite me after, as my wants may dictate.

Is not thy father yonder?

JASON.

Let him come.

Go and expect me shortly on the beach.

SCENE THE TWELFTH.

JASON and AESON.

AESON.

What have I heard? Th' exasperated king. . . .

JASON.

Hath told thee truth. His daughter I relinquish.

AESON.

Off with this bridal pageantry, which mocks

With gay delusion my disastrous age.

Reach me again my sable; from thy hand

I will receive it: from thy barb'rous hand

Let dust be sprinkled on my joyless head.

Nay, rather turn invincible against me;

Lock in that nervous gripe these snowy hairs;

And to the hov'ring eagles on the beach

Cast my disfigur'd reliques. Dost thou pause?

Think'st thou, that Jason's father will be seen

Decrepit, tott'ring with distress and years,

A vagabond, a suppliant for protection

Among the happier princes? No, my son,

Though not like thee the faulchion I can weild,

And mow my foes before me, I can die.

JASON.

Com'st thou with threat'nings? That tremendous goddess,

Whose piercing eye from yonder fane discerns

Guile in its naked shape through ev'ry garb,

And marks ingratitude for signal vengeance,

Knows, that we merit both to die: yet, dying,

We could not expiate our unmatch'd offence.

AESON.

What unaccustom'd, terrifying sterness

Frowns on that aspect? Gentle have I known thee

From infancy to manhood, ne'er before

Have felt thee dreadful.

JASON.

Ever from thy fears

Wilt thou take counsel? Can the voice of pity,

Benevolence and equity convey

No admonition? O exalt thy thoughts

From this base earth, the mansion of deceit,

Of perjuries and crimes. Erect thy visage

To Themis heav'n-thron'd patroness of justice.

Invoke her aid, that, strengthen'd, thou may'st hear,

Nor be confounded at thy son's resolves.

By no persuasion, artifice, or menace

My now-reviving dignity of mind

From its own summit shall again descend.

AESON.

What would my Jason?

JASON.

Take the holy priestess;

Repair to Creon; with united counsels

Him first from impious violence dissuade:

And then. . . .

AESON.

To whose protection must I fly?

JASON.

To mine. Abandon Corinth, and at Thebes

Not three day's march from these detested gates

Expect my presence. Hercules is there,

My friend, my soldier. He with ev'ry hero,

Who once obey'd my standard, will again

League their auxiliar swords and save Iolcos.

Let this suffice— If not— Persist no more.

Thy son is fix'd immoveable, as fate.

AESON. Thunder.

Thy mightier genius awes me. I submit.

We all are guilty— Juno so proclaims.

But Oh! amid these prodigies, my Jason,

Not one alarms me like the rude commotion,

Which shakes thy placid bosom. Be compos'd.

I will conduct Theano to the king.

SCENE THE THIRTEENTH.

JASON turning towards the temple.

Look down, connubial goddess, and with hope

Let thy appeas'd divinity indulge

A hero off'ring at thy holy shrine

His spirit humbled with repentant sighs.

You too attend, ye favourable gales,

And swiftly waft us to the kind embrace

Of our companion, Orpheus; who shall breathe

His tuneful consolation in a strain

Of grief-composing energy to charm

Distraction's rage, till new-born reason smile.

Then with her children lovely, as the mother,

Shall blooming Tempé on its flow'ry lap

Again receive her; while Peneus' stream

Blends with the flitting warblers on his banks

His murm'ring cadence to delight her ear:

And I once more along th' accustom'd vale

Shall by the lustre of the silent moon

Walk by her side attentive, while her tongue

Unfolds the pow'rs of heav'n's resplendent train,

Of magic numbers, and mysterious spels,

And feasts with knowledge my enraptur'd soul.

SCENE THE FOURTEENTH.

COLCHIANS. [IAMBICS.]

Sire of Aeetes, god rever'd

By our forefathers on their sands

Bleach'd by the Euxin's restless foam,

Effulgent origin of day;

Who with illimitable view,

As from the amber-portal'd east

Thy coursers fiery-man'd proceed,

See'st the deep-bosom'd woes of men;

[TROCHAICS.]

Whether plac'd in mildest climes,

Or beneath thy sultry wheels,

Whether freezing near the pole,

All the various race of care.

[IAMBICS.]

Yet to thy sad paternal eye

Can this diversity of grief

Not one present through all thy course

To match thy own Medea's pain.

Lo! ev'ry flow'r of wisdom fades

Within her large and fertile breast,

A desart now by tempests rang'd,

The seat of wild discordant thoughts.

[TROCHAICS.]

God of wisdom and of light,

O relume her darken'd soul!

Let her, though begirt with ills,

Still thy progeny be known.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE THE FIRST.

THEANO descending from the temple, AESON and COLCHIANS.

AESON.

WHERE is the priestess, Colchian?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

There descending.

Pale consternation overcasts her visage.

THEANO.

O most portentous, execrable sight!

I led the virgins to rejoin your princess,

Who had escap'd their care— Mysterious heav'n!

Where was thy pow'r to check a mother's rage?

Where was thy mercy, when her savage hand

Unclos'd the jaws of slaughter on her children?

AESON.

Oh! all-surpassing evil!

FIRST COLCHIAN.

When and how?

Oh! speak.

THEANO.

A knife of sacrifice she seiz'd,

And in their tender bosoms plung'd its point.

We found her planted near their welt'ring limbs;

Her fiery eye-balls on their wounds were fix'd;

A ghastly triumph swell'd her wild revenge,

And madness mingled smiles with horror.

AESON.

Horror

Is my companion now. The race of Jason

One common crime hath swallow'd in its gulph.

THEANO.

The goddess bow'd in pity from her shrine;

When straight a voice oracular in thunder,

Whose awful clamour must have reach'd your ears,

Peal'd o'er the rocking temple. "Impious Creon,"

The voice proclaim'd, "thy guilt hath fill'd its measure;

"Then fall, thou victim to the gods of hell."

AESON.

Tremendous sentence!

THEANO.

I with fearful steps

Haste to the palace.

AESON.

Make me thy associate,

And I to calm his violence will join.

SCENE THE SECOND.

COLCHIANS, MEDEA rushing from the temple, PHAEACIANS following.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Behold, where, dropping with her children's blood,

The lost Medea comes.

MEDEA.

It is begun.

Now to complete my vengeance will I mount

The burning chariot of my bright forefather;

The rapid steeds o'er Corinth will I drive,

And with the scatter'd lightnings from their manes

Consume its walls, its battlements and tow'rs,

Its princes, people, palaces and temples:

Then, as the flames embrace the purple clouds,

And the proud city crumbles from its base,

The demon of my rage and indignation

All grim and wrapt in terror shall bestride

The mountainous embers, and denounce abroad

To gods and men my wrongs and my revenge.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

How is thy wisdom exil'd from thy breast,

Its native seat, nor leaves one trace behind

To shew, it once was there.

MEDEA.

Weep'st thou, old man?

Ha! speak; thou venerable mourner, speak

Thy cause of anguish. Hadst thou not a daughter

Wise like Minerva, like the morning fair,

And once thy dearest comfort? Hath she left thee,

Left thy decrepit head for grief to seize

And dash against the tomb? Weep, weep, old man,

The slight remainder of thy days exhaust

In lamentation; she is lost for ever,

Lost to herself and thee: and never more

Shalt thou the beauty of her face contemplate,

Nor hear again the wisdom of her tongue.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Thou dost mistake me for the stern Aeetes.

I am but one among th' unnumber'd Colchians,

Who mourn in thee their nation's glory fall'n.

MEDEA.

I well deserve this pity— yours— and yours,

Who kindly weep around me. As I pass,

I wade through seas of tears— I hear no sound,

But sighs and groans from sorrow-beaten breasts.

Dishevell'd fragments of uprooted hairs

From the wild head of anguish fly about me.

Is it not fitting? When Medea mourns,

Shall not the skies assume their blackest robes,

And scowl upon mankind? Medea sighs;

Shall not hell groan, and heav'n reply in thunder?

It is the off-spring of the Sun, who wrings

Her helpless hands, who rends her scatter'd locks.

My heart is cold— The thread of life unwinds.

Now triumph, death— Thy conquest is Medea.

She sinks into the lap of a Phaeacian.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Repose her harrass'd limbs with tend'rest care.

If this delirious transport be no more,

Than some short tumult of the heated brain;

Refreshing sleep may cool that seat of thought,

And wand'ring reason sojourn there again.

Essay your vocal pow'r, harmonious maids;

Some new and soothing modulation chuse;

Dress in persuasive melody your numbers,

Whose artful cadence from the breaking heart

May steal its cares, and fold them in oblivion.

A PHAEACIAN turning towards the sea. [TROCHAICS.]

Azure god, whose active waters

Beat with endless toil below,

Calm the ruder blasts to slumber;

While to yonder grove, which bends

Stately o'er thy shaded bosom,

Softly-sighing gales aspire.

And, ye zephyrs, which ascending

Fan the plumy verdure there,

Lulling whispers, drowsy murmurs

Through the trembling foliage breathe

O'er the wakeful brow of sorrow

Care-beguiling sleep to spread.

Or my gently-soothing measure

On your downy pinions bear

Through the grief-distemper'd spirit

With delusion sweet to steal,

Till, on music's lap dissolving,

Madness lull its weary'd head.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Your queen recovers, and her look serene

Shews, the mild beam of reason shines anew.

MEDEA.

Grief, as o'erlabour'd with its cruel office,

Awhile is pausing, till its strength returns.

I will at least possess the short relief

To see my infants. Sure, my faithful friends,

From my sad heart no evils can erase

Maternal gladness at my children's sight.

Go, lead them from the temple— They will smile,

And lift my thoughts to momentary joy.

Not gone, my virgins? Wherefore this delay?

Why all aghast? Why tremble thus your limbs?

Ha! whence this blood? My hands are dipt in slaughter.

Speak, ye dumb oracles of terror, speak;

Rising.

Where are my children? My distracted brain

A thousand dreadful images recals

Imperfectly remember'd— Speak, I charge you;

Where are my children?— Silent still and pale.

Enough— Fell pow'rs, your purpose is accomplish'd;

Medea's suff'rings are complete and full.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

The swelling passions struggle in her breast,

And find no vent. My ever-honour'd mistress,

This is the time for tears and exclamations.

MEDEA.

Can exclamations down the wind convey

From these retentive ears my children's groans?

Or can this murd'rous hand by tears be whiten'd?

Hear, Neptune! o'er this citadel emerge

To reach my crime; or send the pow'r of whirlwinds

To sweep my footsteps from the stable earth,

In rapid flight to Caucasus transport

And fix me shiv'ring on the pointed rock.

Let Nemesis revive the breathless clay

Of my slain infants, to the rav'nous beak

Their lips disfigure, and their tender fingers

Arm with the vulture's talons; that their wounds

May be imprinted on their mother's breast

With Promethean torture, and her heart

In blood bewail the error of her hand.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

It was the act of ignorance and madness.

Just Themis knows thy purity of mind,

And will with pity cleanse that erring hand.

MEDEA.

Not the disburthen'd sluices of the skies,

The wat'ry Nereids with the ocean's store,

Nor all the tears, which misery hath shed,

Can from the mother wash her children's blood.

Where shall I hide me from the piercing day?

What man will grant protection to my guilt,

What god afford me safeguard at his altar?

Thou must alone receive me, thou, O earth.

Then, while I crush my bosom on thy surface,

And grasp the dust within my struggling hands,

Distain my limbs, and strike my head against thee,

At length in pity of my suff'rings sue

The loit'ring gods to rear the friendly bolt,

And close my sorrows on thy peaceful breast.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

See Jason too unconscious of his loss.

SCENE THE THIRD.

COLCHIANS, MEDEA, PHAEACIANS and JASON.

JASON.

Is she restor'd?

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Restor'd to full sensation

Of her increas'd afflictions, there she lies.

JASON.

They shall be soon diminish'd. Fate at last

Hath folded up its inauspicious scroll,

And fairer volumes open to our eyes.

I see, you doubt me all. That pale dejection

Reveals distrust and fear. I tell you, Colchians,

Prophetic Themis from her spotless shrine,

When she unfolds the oracle of justice,

Fills not her priest with more enraptur'd fervor,

Than now her present deity supplies

To my stability of soul, which marks

Success in prospect, and will shew me still

Not less, than Jason in the brightest hour,

Yourselves can witness, of his pass'd atchievements.

Perhaps she sleeps.

Looking attentively on Medea.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Ah! no.

JASON.

Then, dearest woman,

Look on me, hear me, trust me once again.

I have resign'd Creüsa and her kingdom;

I have appeas'd my father; Creon's wrath

Is ineffectual now: then deign to cast

One glance on Jason, on thy suppliant husband

Return'd in tears of penitence and shame,

But with redoubled tenderness and truth.

MEDEA.

Oh! Jason— Thou and I have once been happy.

What are we now?

JASON.

Let thy forgiving breath

Revive my courage fetter'd yet and tame

With thy displeasure; and my active love

Shall soon transport thee from this seat of woe:

Then, as we bound before the fav'ring gale,

Shall fondly whisper, we may still be happy.

MEDEA starting up.

Survey these hands.

JASON.

What blood is this?

MEDEA.

Thy children's.

JASON.

Inhuman Creon! Could thy malice chuse

No other victims, than my blameless boys?

I come, incens'd Corinthians, to divulge

This profanation through your madding streets;

Myself will guide your torrent of revolt,

And whelm its billows on this royal savage.

MEDEA.

If heav'n had once meant kindly to Medea,

Some tyrant had been found, some other hand▪

Than hers alone to spill her children's blood.

The season for upbraiding is no more;

But know, thou wretched like myself, that madness

Arm'd my blind rage against them, and the deed

Now weighs me down to everlasting night.

JASON falling on his knees.

O thou, whose equal balance to mankind

Distributes justice, and restoring mercy,

If pray'rs from this polluted breast may reach

Thy pure abode, exert thy righteous pow'r;

Drop thy asswaging pity on her heart;

On me exhaust the quiver of thy vengeance.

MEDEA.

Was not my portion of distresses large,

Ye pow'rs obdurate? Hath this heart refus'd

To sigh, these eyes been sparing of their streams?

Impell'd by indignation, still my spirit

Would challenge your injustice, which requir'd

My children's blood to mingle with my tears.

Take back the mighty mind, you fram'd to break,

First rent by anguish, then by guilt deform'd.

Draws a poniard.

A VOICE from the temple.

Hold, off-spring of the Sun; arise; repair

To Juno's shrine; reply not, but obey.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

JASON, COLCHIANS and PHAEACIANS.

JASON.

Celestial presence, I adore thy greatness;

Yet thy tremendous voice, which rocks these bulwarks,

Appals not me, who bid destruction welcome.

Hope, which cements the structure of the heart,

From mine is moulder'd, and despair is lodg'd

Within the ruins.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

JASON, COLCHIANS, PHAEACIANS and LYCANDER.

LYCANDER.

Gods! what new reverse

Hath cast the first of heroes to the earth?

Thy mariners expect thee; haste away.

Too high the ferment rises. Oh! recall

Theano's last presage of black events.

The wild impatience of religious rage

Stings ev'ry bosom. Our Corinthian dames

Range through the streets with torches in their hands,

Invoking Juno, hymeneal Juno.

An impulse more, than natural, directs

Those armed numbers to some hideous act.

They breathe demoniac fury on the palace.

Should Creon meet them, he must fall. Rise, prince,

I must attend thy flight. Our timely absence

Will save our streets from homicide.

JASON.

No, death

May reach me too.

LYCANDER.

For pity— Ha! the skies

Share in our tumult, and a bloody veil

Hangs o'er the sick'ning sun. The air wheels round us.

Grim Neptune yonder shakes his stormy trident.

Why heaves the loosen'd rock? Why drop these clouds

In threat'ning murmurs from their dusky folds

Streak'd with sulphureous gleams?

Thunder, lightning and the stage darken'd.

JASON rising.

This suits my soul

For its infernal journey all prepar'd,

A pale attendant on my children's ghosts

In Tartarus to dwel, while they repose

In blest Elysium.

FIRST COLCHIAN.

Look, the holy priestess

Breaks from the palace in disorder'd haste,

And to her temple flies. In consternation

Old Aeson too is nigh.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

JASON, COLCHIANS, PHAEACIANS, LYCANDER, AESON and THESSALIANS.

AESON.

My son! my son!

JASON.

If thou dost bring fresh evils, thou art welcome.

AESON.

We found the harden'd king. My words were vain,

So were Theano's. With a desp'rate band,

Of life regardless, and contemning Juno,

Against her grove he sallies.

CREON behind the scenes.

Since no longer

You dread my scepter, you shall feel my sword;

Which o'er your mangled carcasses shall hew

Its purple passage to chastise the author

Of this revolt, and chace barbarians hence.

LYCANDER.

The king's rash voice. He charges.

A shout within.

AESON.

Hideous roar!

Thunder and lightning.

O Jove, be merciful!

LYCANDER.

He gives the signal,

And shews the tumult through those livid flames.

JASON.

I hear the clang of arms. Unmov'd and cold,

My heart rejects that once-enliv'ning sound,

And sighs for dissolution. Pause awhile,

Sad spirit, till Medea's fate is known,

Then prompt my sword to justice on myself.

AESON.

That shout denounces triumph.

LYCANDER.

Yes, and safety

To all, but Creon. Give the torrent way.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.

JASON, COLCHIANS, PHAEACIANS, LYCANDER, AESON, THESSALIANS and CORINTHIANS.

FIRST CORINTHIAN.

Where is the honour'd priestess? We will bring,

If she so wills, the sacrilegious head

Of our slain tyrant to her sacred feet.

SCENE THE LAST.

JASON, COLCHIANS, PHAEACIANS, LYCANDER, AESON, THESSALIANS and CORINTHIANS falling back on each side of the stage, as THEANO descends from the temple.

LYCANDER.

Be silent, all. Theano from the goddess

To this assembly moves. Night flies before her;

Earth, seas and heav'ns are calm'd.

THEANO.

Ye sons of Corinth,

Old men of Colchis and Thessalians, hear.

At length the gods restrain their vengeful rod.

The dreadful scene is clos'd. Iolchian prince,

Thou from Aeetes' daughter art disjoin'd.

Look, where the goddess through th' aerial champain

Sends in a chariot drawn by winged dragons

That all-transcending woman into climes

Remote, but whither is from thee conceal'd.

JASON.

Heav'n guide her fortunes. This shall govern mine.

Offers to fall on his sword and is prevented.

THEANO.

Unmanly desperation! Will the grave

Hide thy disgrace, or ill-tongu'd rumor die,

When thou art ashes? No. Recall thy manhood.

Thou hast a father's kingdom to redeem.

Go, save a nation. These afflicted maids,

These aged Colchians to their homes restore.

Thus shall the censure, which thy frailty merits,

Be chang'd to blessings on thy gen'rous deeds,

And time's light finger loosen from thy breast

Its root of care, till peace of mind return.

END OF THE LAST ACT.

ERRATA.

- In Page 9, Line 7, for Tydings read Tidings▪

- 22, Line 9, for fire read sire.

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Title statement

Medea. A tragedy

Glover, Richard, 1712-1785.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3577

ID [isbn10]

1106005767

ID [isbn13]

9781106005762

ID [TCP]

K020463.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3314396538

ID [ECLL]

0776000500

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Source

— Medea. A tragedy, Glover, Richard, 1712-1785.. [6],98p. ; 4⁰. London :: printed by H. Woodfall: and sold by J. Morgan,. 1761.. [The dedication signed: R. Glover.] [[Price Two Shillings and Six-pence.] below imprint; a variant is unpriced.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT975.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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