Racine: Phaedra

MEDEA
My temper uncomplying, though my wisdom
Is not transcendent. But from me it seems
You apprehend some violence; dismiss
Those fears ; my situation now is such,
O Creon, that to monarchs I can give
No umbrage : and in what respect have you
Treated me with injustice? You bestowed
Your daughter where your inchnation led.
Though I abhor my husband, I suppose
That you have acted wisely, nor repine
At your prosperity. Conclude the match
Be happy : but allow me in this land
Yet to reside ; for I my wrongs will bear
In silence, and to my superiors yield.
Creon.—Soft is the sound of thy persuasive words.
But in my soul I feel the strongest dread
Lest thou devise some mischief, and now less
Than ever can I trust thee ; for 'gainst those
Of hasty tempers with more ease we guard,
Or men or women, than the silent foe
Who acts with prudence. Therefore be thou gone
With speed, no answer make : it is decreed,
Nor hast thou art sufficient to avert
Thy doom of banishment ; for well aware
Am I thou hat'st me.
Medea,— Spare me, by those knees
And your new-wedded daughter, I implore.
Creon.—Lavish of words, thou never shalt persuade me.
Medea.—Will you then drive me hence, and to my prayers
No reverence yield?
Creon.— I do not love thee more
Than those of my own house.
Medea.— With what regret
Do I remember thee, my native land
Creon.—Except my children, I hold nought so dear.
Medea.—To mortals what a dreadful scourge is love I
Creon.—As fortune dictates, love becomes, I ween,
Either a curse or blessing.
Medea.— Righteous Jove,
Let not the author of my woes escape thee.
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