University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Medæa, Ethra.
Medæa.
Ill shall we judge, if from the Mouth of Fame
We mark the Characters of Vice, and Virtue.
Here Pageants rise, made by Tradition Heroes,
Form'd by the Poet, or the loose Historian;
There you behold imaginary Gods
Rais'd by the venal Breath of Slaves to Heaven,
Swoln with the Praise of Fools, ignobly great,
By Lust, Ambition, Tyranny or Rapine;
While the good Prince, whose soft indulgent Nature
Delights in Peace, and blesses all with Plenty
Who smile beneath him, is revil'd and censur'd,
As an inactive, useless, idle Drone.
The wayward Eye of Man sees all Things wrong.

ETHRA.
You too severely judge. Virtue and Vice
Have their Rewards; and all the good and wise,
Do with impartial Votes, applaud and censure.

MEDÆA.
I try to reason, Ethra, to compare;
But if my sorrow-beaten Mind, impair'd
Perhaps by my Misfortunes, measures wrong,
Impute it to a Wretch, weary of Day-light,
Whose wild, disorder'd Thoughts no more are sway'd
By Reason's Guidance.—Jason then is wedded,
To fair Creusa wedded.—Happy she!
What do the World conceive? How do they judge?
Do they not censure Him, and pity Me?

ETHRA.
He is, and by the World is judg'd to be
The worst and most perfidious of his Sex.

MEDÆA.
Oh wretched Woman! Oh defenceless Sex!
Of the whole animated Race most helpless.
We purchase Slavery with Wealth and Honours;
And when we take a Husband, buy a Tyrant;
A stern, domestick Foe, morose, unjust;
Bound by no Law himself; and yet demanding
A strict Obedience from the frail and weak.

ETHRA.
Too oft, by Parents joyn'd, unknowing, innocent,
Artless and young the tender Virgin takes
A Master, not a Lover to her Arms;
The momentary Transports soon decay;
A dull and sullen Servitude succeeds;
For Life succeeds. Honour forbids Divorce,
And every Creature hopes for Liberty,
But the poor Captive of the Marriage Bed.

MEDÆA.

THERAPION.
The King of Corinth asks Admittance, Creon;
Demands immediate Audience of Medæa.
The Features of the good old King, inflam'd
With Anger and Concern, declare his Business
Is of Importance—

MEDÆA.
—Well—'tis well, Therapion;
I'll see the good old King;—my Servants too
Are lost, corrupted all—Now, Ethra, now,
Medæa is no more.—Behold the King.

Enter Creon.
CREON
, MEDÆA, ETHRA.
Medæa, to thy Fortune and thy Birth
I owe this last, this decent Visitation,
And am the Herald of my own Decree.
Stern is thy Mind, inflexible and hard,
Not yielding to thy Lot; therefore, Medæa,
Thou must no longer breathe in happy Corinth;
And Exile is thy Doom; thou and thy Children
Must go to Banishment;—the Chariots wait;
The Horsemen stand prepar'd to give you Conduct
To the extreamest Limits of our Land.

MEDÆA.
Ills follow one another, and my Foes
Are most industrious, diligent in Ruin;
And yet however I am treated, Creon,
Instruct me, how have I deserv'd my Sentence?
What Wrongs have I committed? Whom offended?
If to have suffer'd Wrongs be deem'd a Crime,
I am the most offending Wretch alive.

CREON.
I'll give thee then the Reasons of thy Exile,
And in few Words. Medæa, Thee I fear;
Fear for Creusa; for the Life of Jason;
Nor is th'Occasion of my Fear ill grounded.
A subtile, learned, artful, angry Woman
Bemoans her widow'd Bed, and breathes Revenge.
Loudly she threatens, and denounces Vengeance
On me, my Daughter, and her once lov'd Husband;
Nor is her Power inferior to her Passion;
She looks all Nature thro' with piercing Eyes,
Discerns her Principles, and Laws and Powers,
And (like a God) acts with superior Knowledge
O'er the unlearned Crowd. This, This is she,
Whom I confess I fear. I banish thee
For my own Safety, and 'tis better much
I should incur thy Hatred than thy Vengeance.

MEDÆA.
Alas! Alas! how hard is evil Fame?
And how unjustly does she load the innocent?
Is Knowledge criminal? Is Wisdom Guilt?
Perish all Learning then. Ye tender Parents,
Avoid with Care to cultivate your Children.
Let the wild Mind grow waste. The learned all
Beset by Ignorance or Envy live
Despis'd or hated; while the vulgar laugh
At what they know not; Educated Pedants
Burn with the Hatred of superior Merit.
Must I too, a weak Woman, undeserving,
Share the hard Fortune of the envy'd wise;

CREON.
Knowledge, in virtuous Minds, is as a Light
Set up on high, the Guide of wand'ring Error;
But, when by Passion govern'd, is a Meteor
Much to be dreaded.—

MEDÆA.
Pacify thy Fears;
My Husband is the Object of my Hatred;
Not Creon. Creon has not wrong'd Medæa.
You have bestow'd your Daughter, where your Mind,
Benevolent to her, and to your People,
Counsel'd you well. Yes, Jason is a Heroe,
Belov'd, or fear'd by all; from me alone
Deserving Hate; and wisely have you done;
Nor do I see the Glories of your House
With envious Eyes—Enjoy your Blessings long.
This only Good I ask; worn out with Sorrows,
Permit me, thus with suppliant Hands I beg,
Oh suffer me within your Realms, though injur'd,
To waste in peaceful Quiet the Remains,
This Ebb of a low miserable Life,
And learn Humility to my Superiors.

CREON.
Thy Words, tho' softer than the Dew that nurses
The blooming Infants of the Spring, avail not;
Inchanting is thy Speech and might have Power
To shake a Mind less exercis'd and constant;
But the more zealously thou pray'st, my Trust
Grows less; I know thy Soul is charg'd with Fires,
And when I see thee thus conceal with Art,
And govern thy wild Mind, I fear thee much.
Those Hearts, that start at once into a Blaze
And open all their Rage, like Summer Storms
At once discharg'd, grow cool again and calm.
Therefore you must prepare for Banishment;
This Instant must you go; so 'tis decreed.

MEDÆA.
Oh Creon, bending to thy royal Knee
In fair Creusa's Name, the Virgin Bride,
Let me intreat the Mercy of the King.

CREON.
It must not be,—The Guards, the Chariots wait;
Learn to submit, where you cannot oppose;
They will conduct you, with Respect and Care,
To the extreamest Limit of our Land.

MEDÆA.
I do not ask thee to repeal my Banishment
I would intreat the King—

CREON.
Speak; I attend, Medæa.

MEDÆA.
I am a Mother, Creon; two small Orphans,
(Such I may call them now) their Parents lost,
The Sons of Jason once, they too must share
Their Mothers Destiny, guilty and punish'd,
Unable and unknowing to offend;
'Tis not decreed that They should suffer Want;
And since their Father means not to provide,
Indulge a Mother's Fondness; suffer me
But one Day more to breathe Corinthian Air,
One only Day, it is not much, to furnish
The necessary Means for their Support.
You are a Father, Creon, and you know
The Yearnings of a Father to his Children.
When I behold my Children suffer, Creon,
Wand'ring in unknown Lands, forlorn and innocent,
And punish'd for my Sake, my Heart drops Blood.

CREON.
Thou hast obtain'd thy Prayer. I do consent
Thou shalt remain within our Realm one Day,
One only Day. Provide for thee and thine;
I err in this Indulgence; but remember,
If when To-morrow's Sun has left the Horizon
Thou shalt be found in Corinth, thou shalt die;
Thou and thy Children; 'tis the King's Decree,
Nor shall the greatest Power on Earth reverse it.
Medæa, may the mighty Gods of Greece
Protect and help thee.
[Exit Creon.

ETHRA.
Indignant Joy
Crimsons your Cheek; your Features rise in Raptures
Mix'd with Despair; your Eyes dart baleful Fires.
What fills your Mind? What is it you revolve?

MEDÆA.
My Soul exults, dilated; the big Hope
Of Vengeance is in View.—One only Day!
Between the rising, and the setting Sun,
Three of my Foes must die; the guilty Husband,
The Father, and the Bride. How shall I end them?
Ten thousand Ways croud on my raptur'd Brain,
And each demands Precedence. Oh! my Heart
Bounds lightly, and springs forward to the Work,
Disburthen'd of her Anguish;—Godlike Vengeance!

ETHRA.
The boiling Passions torture your swoln Heart
And rack it with imaginary Joy;
The burning Nerves of your sick Brain conceive
Delusive Pleasures.

MEDÆA.
Tell me, tell me, Ethra,
Shall I collect into one Point the Beams
Of my immortal Sire, and strike at once
This House of Creon, and dislolve togther
And mingle in one Mass the adulterate Race.
Or shall I rush upon their secret Transports;
In dead of Night break on their curs'd Indearments
And stab these Lovers in each others Arms.
No, this may not succeed; and if I fail
They may deride my disappointed Rage!
What hinders thee, Medæa, thou art skill'd
In all the various Poisons of the Earth!
Be it so then—by Poison let them perish.

ETHRA.
Retire, and think of Rest; think of your Children.
Let us consult how best we may provide
For thee and thine in Exile. Waste not now
The precious Moments with the flattering Hopes
Of Vengeance. Think what Land, what Country; where
Wou't thou direct thy Steps?

MEDÆA.
Oh where indeed?
What hospitable Hand will now relieve
Me and my Children?—Ethra, there is none;
No Hand will now relieve me; therefore here,
Here let us stay, and Act by Policy
What Force denies.

ETHRA.
What Policy, what Art
Can a weak Woman, unbefriended, single,
Contrive against a wise and powerful Prince?

MEDÆA.
However, Ethra
I will not fall alone. This Bride and Bridegroom!
Their nuptial Sweets I'll dash with Gall and Bitterness.
Then, when they Feast; then, when the Blood boils high!
Blooming with Joys to come, when the soft Flute
Nurses the genial Wish—then—then Medæa
Darts her avenging Bolt.—Their odious Joys
Have broke my Strings of Life; nor shall Medæa
Fall unaveng'd. My Exile, their Alliance,
Commence in Blood. Haste then, Medæa; haste;
Use all thy Arts; deliberate; contrive;
Dare all Things; stimulate thy Godlike Mind,
And suffer not this House of Sysiphus
To mock thy Wrongs; sprung from the Source of Day,
The Sun thy Sire, Inheritrix of Light
And godlike Knowledge; rise on thy own Virtues.
Exit Medæa.

ETHRA
alone.
Alas! her wounded Mind warmly enjoys
A pleasing Vengeance, which the Gods deny;
A short, a painful, and delusive Pleasure.
Man is by Nature false and vows of Love
And Gratitude and Truth, like the warm Breath
That utters them, at once are heard and lost.
Exit Ethra.

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.