Racine: Phaedra

MEDEA
Of Utter wretchedness, and them will plunge
Into one yet more wretched. To my sons
Fain would I say : " O stretch forth your right hands.
Ye children, for your mother to embrace,
O dearest hands, ye lips to me most dear,
Engaging features and ingenuous looks,
May ye be blest, but in another world
For by the treacherous conduct of your sire
Are ye bereft of all this earth bestowed.
Farewell, sweet kisses—tender limbs, farewell!
And fragrant breath ! I never more can bear
To look on you, my children." My afflictions
I now am well aware
Have conquered me ;
What crimes I venture on : but rage, the cause
Of woes most grievous to the human race.
Over my better reason hath prevailed.
Chorus.—In subtle questions I full many a time
Have heretofore engaged, and this great point
Debated, whether woman should extend
Her search into abstruse and hidden truths.
But we too have a Muse, who with our sex
Associates to expound the mystic lore
Of wisdom, though she dwell not with us all.
Yet haply a small number may be found.
Among the multitude of females, dear
To the celestial Muses. I maintain.
They who in total inexperience live,
Nor ever have been parents, are more happy
Than they to whom much progeny belongs.
Because the childless, having never tried
Whether more pain or pleasure from their offspring
To mortals rises, 'scape unnumbered toils.
But I observe that they, whose fruitful house
Is with a lovely race of infants filled.
Are harassed with perpetual cares ; how first
To train them up in virtue, and whence leave
Fit portions for their sons ; but on the good
Or worthless, whether they these toils bestow
Remains involved in doubt. I yet must name
One evil the most grievous, to which all
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