University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Palace of Creon.
JASON, CREUSA.
JASON.
The Day salutes thee, fairest of thy Sex
And best belov'd; the chearful Day salutes thee.
Creusa rises like the Morn in Blushes,
Diffusing Joy and Warmth o'er every Heart.
Oh may this Day, the whitest in the Circle
Of rolling Time, be mark'd for ever happy!
And may the bounteous Gods, who thus ingraft
The House of Pelias and our Father Neptune
On Creon's Stock, inrich with every Virtue,
And form my Mind, aspiring still to merit
What I possess.

CREUSA.
Oh! Jason! may the Gods,
If they have will'd it so, erase the Memory
Of poor Medæa's Wrongs; or calm her Mind
And let her feel no more, what now she feels.
Alas! were I to lose, what I possess
By a less Title, Jason's Faith, and Love,
How wou'd my Soul endure it?—When we pity,
We pity thus ourselves, and Mercy lives
In every Heart, that merits to receive it.

JASON.
Oh! think no more of that unhappy Woman,
Creusa. Little do we know of Fate;
Perhaps our Fortune is not in our Power.
We are the Sport and Play-things of high Heaven,
And while this second Cause presumes to act,
Think, and reflect, is acted by the First;
As the great Mover sets us so we go.
But thou wert form'd by Heav'n when all Things smil'd,
And Nature joy'd to hear the aspicious Gods,
As they had wrought this Work, pronounce it happy.
Enjoy the present, look into the length
Of Days to come, and bless the beauteous Prospect.
Thy Doubts, thy Fears, my tender Bride, accuse
The righteous Gods, who with a lavish Hand
Endow'd thy finish'd Form, and heavenly Mind.

CREUSA.
It is the Mark of a dishonest Mind
Not to commiserate ev'n the most guilty.
He, who unmov'd beholds the Wretch's Pains,
Is such a Wretch, as may deserve our Pity.
Forgive me, Jason, my reflecting Soul
Will feel the Sufferings of poor Medæa.
This Day she goes into eternal Exile;
The Guards, the Chariots stand prepar'd; my Father
With his own Mouth pronounces the Decree;
The hard Decree; still must I think it so;
For tho' her Crimes were many, all the Guilt
was caus'd by Love; 'twou'd be unjust in me,
Who know not what I cou'd not do or suffer
For Jason's sake, not to forgive Medæa.

JASON.
Oh! thou all Goodness! How thy beauteous Mind
Beams forth in every Word! Thy great Example
Enlightens, warms, and animates to Virtue.

Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER.
Jason, the King of Corinth is return'd;
The Guards, appointed to attend Medæa,
Return with him; a Smile sits on his Cheek,
As he were pleas'd with some Benevolence
Done to his Fellow Creature. He advances
To this Apartment.

JASON.
hah! Return'd!
Has he then alter'd the severe Decree?

CREUSA.
Yes, he has pardon'd her; I know his Mind
Enjoys the sacred Pleasure. Creon's Soul,
When he forgives alone, is truely happy.

CREON
Enters.
My Children, I have added to the Morn,
That crowns my Bliss, the Pleasure of a Bounty
To the most wretched; and my Soul rejoices.

JASON.
Well have you done—the Rulers of the World
Unmercifully just, who punish all
To the severest Rigour of the Laws,
Are most unjust themselves, and violate
The Laws they seem to guard. There is a Justice
Due to Humanity. Medæa lives;
In Corinth lives; thou hast thyself revers'd
Thy own Decree.

CREON.
Not so my Son; Medæa
May live, but not in Corinth. To her Prayers,
Moving and just, one only Day is granted,
To guard against the Wants of Banishment,
And to support those little faultless Exiles,
Who suffer for their Mothers Crimes—

MEDÆA.
Alas!
Must They too wander; must They taste the Woes;
And Wants of Banishment; severe Decree!
How will their tender Feet support the Travel,
And beat the burning Desert!—Soften, Creon,
Part of thy Sentence; suffer yet the Children
To breathe in Corinth; let them undisturb'd
Enjoy the Indulgence of a Father's Love;
Their plaintive Innocence demands thy Mercy,
Their Wants thy Charity, their Youth support.

JASON.
Creon, attend this beauteous Oratrix;
She pleads in Virtue's Cause; let every Word
Sink deep into thy Heart and rise in Mercy.
Oh! Did thy Soul but feel—

CREON.
Jason, no more!
My sympathising Soul now feels thy Pangs,
Yet must we not indulge our Nature's Weakness
So far to oppose the great unerring Laws
Of Policy and Wisdom. 'Tis the Office,
'Tis the first Duty of the Magistrate
To guard the People's Welfare, and secure,
As far as human Wisdom can secure,
Their future Peace.—Our Council have advis'd;
The Law is sworn and publish'd. Urge no more,
Lest my fond Heart turn Rebel to my Reason
And I offend against the publick Good.
Let not one Act of Passion blot my Reign.

JASON,
Thy Wisdom strikes me with resistless Force,
Makes Sorrow mute; yet Oh! Permit me, Creon,
To visit my sad Family and take
One parting Kiss; let me provide the Means
For their Support, and guard against those Evils,
That Want and a laborious Exile threaten.

CREON.
'Tis well; perform thy Duty to thy Children.
I am a Father too, and well, I hope,
My People know and feel I am their Father.
A worthy Prince must be the common Parent,
And, like the Powers above generous and good,
Shower down his godlike Virtues on Mankind;
Whilst the vain Tyrant, in a cringing Herd
Of dissolute and servile Courtiers, blazes;
Pride, Luxury, Profusion and Expence
Surround the giddy Thing; drunk with the Breath
Of Parasites and Slaves—O Jason, Jason,
When shortly, as they must, the Reins of Government
Fall to thy Hand, avoid the smooth tongu'd Villain;
He is the Bane of every royal Virtue.

JASON.
My Heart attends, and I wou'd emulate
Thy Virtues, tho' they soar so far above me.
But, Creon, now my Soul—

CREON.
Controul thy Passions,
Thou hast awaken'd Dangers, and been arm'd
By strong Adversity to combat Perils;
The Hero works thro' Storms his Way to Glory.
Virtue like purest Gold is prov'd in Fire.
The sinewy Cyclops his rough Metal steel'd,
And Arms on adamantine Anvils neal'd;
With Heat and Strength harden'd the massy Bar,
And cloath'd th'immortal Leader of the War;
Arm'd with impenetrable Mail, the God
Triumphant o'er gygantick Squadrons rode.
Our Passions are the Legions we shou'd quell,
And solid Virtue is the temper'd Steel.