University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Jason, Medæa, Ethra, Therapion and the Children of Medæa.
JASON.
Once more I wait upon your Will, tho' hated;
Altho' an Object painful to your Eye,
I do attend your Order; let him know
What you command, and Jason will obey.

MEDÆA.
Jason, I wish the Folly of my Words
May be forgot, may die, no more remember'd.
Anger with Friends, like Obligations past,
Should never be rehears'd. We have been Friends,
And mutual Benefits receiv'd and given;
Reason now governs here; a Penitent
And self-convicted, lo I stand before thee;
Yet pity me, since from a Brain unsound
I err'd, and quarrel'd with my Benefactors.

JASON.
O Woman! Cou'dst thou now review thyself
As in a Mirrour, and behold the Charms
Chaste Manners give, thy Passions wou'd be held
For ever in the Rein of godlike Reason.
Thou know'st when we from Thessaly arriv'd
In Corinth, friendless and a Prey to Want—

MEDÆA.
I know that we were Exiles then, and friendless;
I have condemn'd, and censur'd with Imprudence;
I own my Rage was ignorant and vain,
Useless, unjust, injurious to myself
And to my Friends; now, better taught, Medæa
Blesses thy providential Care, and thanks
The ever equal Gods for this Allyance.
Fool that I was! I should have bent my Knee,
My stubborn Heart, and, yielding to my Lot,
Have learnt Humility from my Condition.
But as we are, we are;—with too much Fire
My Soul inform'd consumes and wastes itself.
—Oh may my Sex from this Example learn
To govern the wild Sallies of the Mind,
Never returning Ill, for what their Passions
Misguided, call an Ill; but in the Ballance
Of holy Truth weigh every Word and Deed.

JASON.
Oh! had thy Soul been always temper'd thus,
The World had envy'd Jason, and thy Sex
Ambitiously aspir'd to copy from thee
The fair Ideas of exalted Virtue.

MEDÆA.
My Children, good Therapion, let my Children
Attend and witness this auspicious Hour;
[Exit Therapion.
That they too, when the Year revolving brings
This Hour again, which reconcil'd their Parents,
Enter Children.
May bless the Light, and pay the Gods their Duty.
Come near, ye little Ones, and kneel and thank
Your Father Jason, that benign and good
He has remitted all your Mother's Crimes.
Give me thy Hand, and thine my younger Charm.
How long shall I be able thus to hold you!
How long embrace, and live upon your Features!—
You must forgive me if the Tears now flow.
My Children do in every Line confess
Their Father Jason; I am used to bathe
Their tender Bosoms with maternal Sorrow.

JASON.
The Passions of the Fair will have their way.
For you, my Children, I have labour'd long
To fix the Basis of your future Welfare,
And, with the Favour of the Gods, I hope
One Day to make you great, belov'd and powerful;
That many Ages hence my Race may bless
These happy Realms with wise, and virtuous Princes;
Increase in Strength and Years, and leave the rest
To those auspicious Gods, the Guards of Virtue,
And an indulgent Father's wakeful Care;
O that my Eyes may see you, ripe in Manhood,
Superior to your Foes, in Strength and Wisdom!
Hah! Wherefore dost thou weep, Medæa? Why
Flow thus again thy Tears? Why dost thou turn
Thy lilly Cheek? Does what I say displease?

MEDÆA.
No, no; these Objects busy'd all my Thoughts.

JASON.
Trust me, I will provide with Honour.

MEDÆA.
Jason,
Forgive me; 'tis my Nature, 'tis the Failing
Of our weak Sex, and Tears unbid will flow.
But when I see my little Family
Collected thus, a Blessing which my Eyes
Can never hope again, these pious Drops
May be excused;—Oh think I bore them, Jason:
Now I have done—I did intend to say
Wherefore we met, (but Grief broke in upon me.)
The Princes of this Land have sentenc'd me
To Banishment, and I applaud their Wisdom.
I go a willing Exile, I obey
The just Decree; but Oh! beseech the King
My Children may remain; thy Care, thy Wisdom
Will guide them in the Paths of sacred Knowledge.

JASON.
The King, with Reasons not to be refuted,
Prevents my Prayer.

MEDÆA.
Then let Creusa plead;
She will not be deny'd; the good old King
Will listen to his Child, his Pride and Joy.

JASON.
Her Mind is happy when employ'd in Mercy.

MEDÆA.
I too will aid thy pious Supplication.
The Gods themselves are pleas'd with Offerings;
Creusa shall receive immortal Bribes,
A Robe ætherial, wrought by Hands divine,
A Diadem of purest Gold; my Children
Shall bear these Gifts; a hallow'd, magick Treasure
Left by our Sire the Sun to bless his Race.

JASON.
For Gold, They want it most, who have it most;
Yet is it known a smooth-tongu'd Orator;
All the Gods second those, whom Fortune blesses.

MEDÆA.
Here will I trust my Cause; Creusa governs;
A favourite Beauty, like Creusa, Jason,
Reigns independent both of Gods and Men.
[The Diadem and Robe brought on velvet Cushions.
Take thou this Robe, and thou this Diadem;
My Children, bear these nuptial Offerings
Unto Creusa's Hands, your Father's Bride.
Let us commute for Crimes by costly Victims
Attone th'offended Deity by Prayer,
By Sacrifice; may she receive auspicious
This Incense which we offer at her Altar.

JASON.
No more of this, Medæa, tho' your Heart
O'erflows; remember Praise may be offensive.

MEDÆA.
Thus then, my Children, when you enter first
The Palace of the Princess, of Creusa,
Your Father's new made Bride, my royal Mistress;
Suppliant intreat, and on the bended Knee
Ask the Remission of your Exile, then
Into her Hands alone deliver lowly
These hallow'd Gifts; returning then with Joy
Bring me the happy Tidings of Success.

JASON.
Thy pious Care for these our other-selves
Dilates and warms my Heart, and I forgive,
Forget the past; I too will bear my Part;
I will conduct them to Creusa's Hand.
I think their Looks alone will plead their Cause;
Creusa too prejudges in their Favour,
And every Hour solicits this Remission.

MEDÆA.
'Tis well—Therapion, wait upon your Charge;
Thus let the Children bear the Gifts themselves,
And let no strange, unhallow'd Hand prophane them.

[Jason goes off first, the Children together, and Therapion follows.
MEDÆA, ETHRA.
MEDÆA.
Now Vengeance to Work. Lo pale Erynnis
From black Cocytus leads a Band of Furies;
They clink their Chains of Adamant, they howl,
And, grinning ghastly Joy, demand the Sacrifice.
Behold she comes, Creusa, Pluto's Bride,
His Diadem now binds her Head, his Robe
Infolds her—

ETHRA.
Wherefore are you thus convuls'd?
Your mystick Word conceal some dreadful Meaning.

MEDÆA.
Ethra, we go; to Pluto's Realms descend;
My Children too, cut in their early Bloom,
Fall by the Tyrant's Hand.

ETHRA.
Thy Brain o'erwrought,
Hath broke at length the reas'ning Chain.

MEDÆA.
Alas!
Thou know'st it not, we will philosophise;
The Distance of an Age, or of an Hour,
Is in eternal Records not remember'd;
Then whether we die now, and let all pass
As in a Dream; no, let us live one Hour,
And stand erect on the triumphant Ruin.
Hah! Dost thou hear that Noise? Does not that Shreik
Sound from old Creon's Palace? All Confusion,
Amazement, Horror, Howling, and a Cry
Of Treason! Murther!—Glorious Harmony!

[Exit Ethra. Medæa runs off.
The Apartment of the Women in the Palace of Creon.
CREUSA, IRIS.
CREUSA.
The morning Light, serenely beautiful,
Chears every Form; the whole Creation smiles,
Benign and good; the genial Blessing, Iris,
Gives equal Warmth, and Nourishment to all.

IRIS,
Bless'd be the Day, Creusa, bless'd the Morn
Next in Succession to the bridal Light,
Nor was there one fair Hour in all the Waste
Of circling Time deserv'd so well the White.

CREUSA,
Away! No more of Adulation, Iris;
Truth is the fairest Ornament of Thrones.
Princes should like the God of Day dispense
To all within their Shine.—Be that Day lost,
Unnumber'd with my happier Hours of Life,
Wherein my idle Hand has done no Benefit.
My Father, ever good, and gracious to me,
Consents that Jason's Children shall remain;
The Sentence of their Exile is remitted;
This warms my Heart, this fills my Soul with Joy.
Jason, Therapion, the Children of Medæa, Iris; Jason introducing the Children.
Behold this Remnant of the House of Peleas,
The last Descendants of old Æson's Race;
Behold the Children of thy Servant Jason.

CREUSA.
[to Iris.
His Children Iris! Did he say his Children?
Something, alas! now sickens in my Blood,
A thrilling Chilness creeps along my Veins.

[Leaning on Iris.
JASON.
Why dost thou turn away thy Eyes? Oh why
Dost thou avoid the Children of thy Friend?

CREUSA.
Yes, I am hurt;—a tender blushing Sorrow,
A Fear, I never knew before this Hour,
And mix'd with Guilt, appales me; tell me, Jason,
Have we done well? Say, will the Gods approve
This Work of human Policy?

JASON.
The Gods
Have by the Priests, their Servants, all approv'd,
And hallow'd in their Auspices our Nuptials;
But Fear is Superstition. Why, Creusa,
Why dost thou weep? These little Innocents
Intreat thy Favour; look thou kindly on them,
And they are happy.

CREUSA.
Oh my trembling Heart!
What is it that I wou'd not do to bless them?
Somewhat within me tells me I am wrong,
And I methinks shou'd kneel and pray to them.

JASGN.
The tender Supplicants behold in Pain
Thy Fears, Creusa; with a Smile relieve them.

CREUSA.
Come hither, Child; thy Father's little Image;
O cou'dst thou, Jason, cou'dst thou ever mean
To part with these two Models of Thyself?
Behold this Boy,—each blooming Feature speaks;
A knowing Eye, an open, manly Front;
Neither a daring, nor a suppliant Brow;
A comely Form, that gives Regard and Pleasure,
As in a noble Building, Harmony,
Awes, and delights at once the pleas'd Spectator.

JASON.
No more Medæa bears that lawless Will,
Wont to controul and menace and insult,
She prays, intreats and supplicates in Terms
Low as her Fortune, and deserves Compassion.

CREUSA.
I thought that Mind, undisciplin'd and fiery,
Cou'd never be reduced.

JASON.
She much condemns
The Folly of her Ways, and as a Proof
At what a Price she wishes to attone
Her Errors past, sends these immortal Gifts;
The God of Day (tho' cloath'd in purest Light,)
Disdain'd not from the Muses to receive
Those sacred Boons, (that Diadem and Robe)
And to his Children left th'ætherial Treasure,
Indued with many Virtues.

[The Children kneel and Creusa receives the Presents, and places them near her.
CREUSA.
I receive them;
With Joy receive them. Tell Medæa, Children,
I am her Friend, I never was her Foe;
And when she deigns, and by such Orators
To send, I blush I've nothing to return;
But when I hear Medæa's Soul is touch'd,
And that she greatly condescends to think
Her Conduct has been wrong, it gives me Joy;
For self Conviction is the Path to Virtue.
An honourable Candor thus adorns
Ingenuous Minds; the hard and ignorant,
As 'tis with Pain they look into themselves,
But little feel, and less reform their Errors.

JASON.
Behold once more your pious Supplicants;
Now, my Creusa, for themselves they plead,
Let me, who am their Father, be their Advocate;
They are condemn'd to wander thro' the World,
A wide tempestuous World without a Pilot;
Without one favourable Star to guide
Their tender Feet across the pathless Desart.

CREUSA.
The Sentence of their Exile is repeal'd;
My Father, ever gracious and benevolent,
At length has granted my Request.

JASON.
Oh, Creon!
May every God show'r down his Blessings on thee,
As thou art merciful, and good to all!

CREUSA.
These Boys are now my Charge, I will supply,
Well as I may, the mourning Mother's Loss;
It is a great one; and my Trust is great.
In Arms and Arts, let Jason far renown'd
Instruct his Sons, and form their Minds to Glory;
Be it my Care indulgently to nurse
Their tender Bloom, and guard from every Blight
The royal Scyons.—Come, my little Wards,
Give me your Hands; thus do I plight my Faith,
[Kisses the Children.
And when I cease to cherish these Remains
Of Æson's House, then Childless let me fall,
Nor know the Joy that Mothers only know,
When the Heart leaps to see an Infant smile.

JASON.
This is the great Deposit of the Gods;
Well have they delegated thee their Guardian.
Ingrafted thus, th'enobled Fruit shall take
New Honours from Adoption, and arise
The Pleasure and the Pride of wondring Greece.

CREUSA.

[Exeunt omnes.
The Apartment of Medæa.
MEDÆA, ETHRA.
MEDÆA.
Giddy and vain, fond of exterior Pomp,
Th'ambrosial Veil will tempt her, and the blaze
Of the rich Diadem inchant her Eye;
—She wears them now. Daughter of lawless Creon,
This is the gaudy Garniture of Death;
These are the Robes of Fate.

ETHRA.
Oh most unhappy!
Has thy nefarious Hand ruin'd at once
Thy self and thy whole Race? Flagrant Iniquity!
Weak, wicked, thoughtless Woman! both thy Children
Will suffer Death in Tortures.

MEDÆA.
Both my Children!
That hurts indeed, when once the living Pulse
Ceases to strike, nor Herbs, nor Arts restore;
Then what avail thy Powers? Thy Pow'rs grow weak
And sicken with thee. Once the Sons of Knowledge
Astonish'd saw the Wonders of my Hand.
The silver Queen of Night, aw'd by my Charms,
Check'd her Career, now struck with other Passions
Than when on Latmos Top th'enamour'd Goddess
Embrac'd her favourite Boy.—My Art restor'd
Old Æson's Youth, soften'd the hard Canals
Of rigid Age, and fill'd his sinking Veins
With milky Chyle; while Nature shook to see
Her Laws revers'd, and human Matter circling
In the same Form beyond her fix'd Decree.
And what is all this Knowledge? Oh thou Trifler!
Hath thy vain Wisdom taught thee to controul
One idle Passion?—

ETHRA.
Therapion and your Children are return'd,
A smiling Joy triumphant in their Looks
Sits, the glad Messenger of happy Tidings.
Enter Therapion and the Children.
Hail to Medæa, lo, your Children live
Free and in Health, no longer doom'd to Exile,
The royal Bride, divinely good, receiv'd
Your Gifts with humble Grace, her humid Eyes
Spoke Gratitude sincere, while Tears of Joy
Bedew'd her smiling Features.—when her Hand—

MEDÆA.
—Hah—!

THERAPION.
Why dost thou turn aside thy troubled Face?
Are then my Words ungrateful to thy Ear?

MEDÆA.
Alas! alas!

THERAPION.
How ill does this agree
With the good Tidings that I bring!

MEDÆA.
away!

THERAPION.
Indeed I thought to gladden thy pleas'd Ear
With Words of Joy, but somewhat inauspicious
Drops from my fatal Tongue, unwitting, ignorant

MEDÆA.
What thou hast said, is said;—I blame not thee.

THERAPION.
Then wherefore are thy Eyes cast down? Oh why
Loaden with heavy Waters, do they droop?

MEDÆA.
Old Man, the various Passions of my Soul
Are not in Words to paint.

THERAPION.
Trust to the Gods;
Thy Children live protected, free, in Corinth.

MEDÆA.
Tis right,—yet first we sacrifice to Pluto.

THERAPION.
Nor art thou yet the first unhappy Mother,
Divided from her Children. Think, Medæa,
It is the Duty of the wise and good
To bear the Burthen of their Woes with Patience

MEDÆA.
You say the royal Bride was pleas'd, Therapion.
Doubting and anxious for the great Event,
My trembling Blood retires
[Aside
—You say Creusa—

THERAPION.
In tender Words and most indearing Looks
She promis'd to supply their Mother's Loss.
Her royal House, she said, should be their Refuge,
And her own careful Hand protect and serve them;
She bless'd the Tokens of your Love restor'd,
Nor would she suffer us to leave her Presence,
Till we beheld her dress'd in the gay Robe
And royal Diadem.

MEDÆA.
Say that again.

THERAPION.
Yes, we beheld the shining Diadem
Inshrine her Temples, and the Robe her Limbs.

MEDÆA.
The Work is done! Thou tell'st me pleasing News;
Henceforth Therapion, lose the Name of Servant;
Thou art my Benefactor and my Friend.

THERAPION.
Now in the polish'd Mirrour she survey'd
Her Charms improv'd, a conscious Smile arose
And heighten'd every Feature,

MEDÆA.
Enough! the Debts of injur'd Love are satisfy'd;
The noisy Business of this Life is done.
Draw near, my Children, my lov'd better Parts;
Still the dear precious Partners of my Woe.
In vain a royal House, a princely Refuge
Is offer'd you, Fate has ordain'd it otherwise;
Sudden the great Calamity is come,
And we must die together; fall at once
A solemn Sacrifice to Love and Vengeance.
Fondly I once believ'd my Eyes should see you
Increase in Strength and Years, two blooming Heroes,
In Arms and Virtue great; I vainly wish'd
To adorn your nuptial Beds and bear a Torch
Before the solemn Rites; alas! alas!
How has my obdurate Folly ruin'd all?

THERAPION.
Behold the Mother's Love now fills her Soul
And her maternal Piety alone
Obliges every Passion to recede.
No more indulge your Griess; leave to the Gods
The Care of Virtue; many Years may waste,
And you may meet again, when these dark Clouds
Are pass'd, and long enjoy a happy Calm.

MEDÆA.
You know not then, that now we part for ever,
Nor in what Manner. Hear me, good Therapion.
Fate is approaching—Hah! 'tis well; we'll meet him
Gay as young Bridegrooms, as the wounded Victor
After a Conquest gain'd. They weep, bless'd Innocents!
They look into my Eyes and beg for Mercy;
This Burthen is not light.—Support me, Æthra.

ETHRA.
Perhaps Creusa (may the Gods permit it!)
Has scap'd thy magick Toils; perhaps she lives.

MEDÆA.
No, no, the Diadem now binds her Brow,
And in my Robes Jason's new Wife expires.
I am prepar'd for Death, nor is that hard;
Death is a long and an inconscious Sleep,
And every Passion conquers and contemns it;
But it is more, much more than Death to part
With these dear Pledges, once of mutual Love.
Once more, my Boys, a parting Kiss and then
Farewel for ever.—Oh the sweet Embrace!
Thus have I held you oft in happier Moments,
Scan'd every Feature, liv'd upon your Smiles;
O the dear tender Babes! farewel, farewel!
May all the Gods protect you, and may Jason
Remember you are his.

[Medea carried off.
THERAPION.
Ethra, she sinks.

ETHRA.
Support her to her Couch—Immortal Gods!
How various are our Passions and how violent.

THERAPION.
What mean Medæa's Words? Why talks she thus
Of Death, and of her Children; tell me, Ethra?

ETHRA.
The Presents, oh Therapion, those envenom'd
And deadly Presents have destroy'd us all;
The poison'd Web, the fatal Diadem;
Creusa! hapless Bride!

THERAPION.
I might have mark'd,
Too late I do, a baleful Joy, a Smile,
With Vengeance mingled, sat upon her Brow.
Why are our Passions suffer'd to subdue
And thus lay waste.—

ETHRA.
Why all these Things are thus
Is hard to say; the smiling Sun beholds
The wide Creation preying on it self,
And the frail Creature breathes and lives on Ruin.
Arachné thus unwinds her silken Threads,
And Webs unseen th'insidious Insect spreads;
The royal Bee, Queen of the Rosy Bower,
Collects her precious Sweets from every Flower;
Now loads her little Limbs with anxious Care,
Now trys her slender Pinions in the Air;
Then homeward as she wings her fragrant Way,
Rich in the thymy Labours of the Day.
Sudden she strikes at once th'invenom'd Loom,
And finds a dreadful, and lamented Doom.