Of that proud mind.

Go now! Run quickly indoors.

It is clear that she soon will put lightning

In that cloud of her cries that is rising

With a passion increasing. O, what will she do,

Proud-hearted and not to be checked on her course,

A soul bitten into with wrong?

(The Tutor takes the children into the house.)

MEDEA

Ah, I have suffered

What should be wept for bitterly. I hate you,

Children of a hateful mother. I curse you

And your father. Let the whole house crash.

NURSE

Ah, I pity you, you poor creature.

How can your children share in their father’s

Wickedness? Why do you hate them? Oh children,

How much I fear that something may happen!

Great peoples tempers are terrible, always

Having their own way, seldom checked,

Dangerous they shift from mood to mood.

How much better to have been accustomed

To live on equal terms with one’s neighbors.

I would like to be safe and grow old in a

Humble way. What is moderate sounds best,

Also in practice is best for everyone.

Greatness brings no profit to people.

God indeed, when in anger, brings

Greater ruin to great men’s houses.

(Enter, on the right, a Chorus of Corinthian women. They have come to inquire about Medea and to attempt to console her.)

CHORUS

I heard the voice, I heard the cry

Of Colchis’ wretched daughter.

Tell me, mother, is she not yet

At rest? Within the double gates

Of the court I heard her cry. I am sorry

For the sorrow of this home. O, say, what has happened?

NURSE

There is no home. It’s over and done with.

Her husband holds fast to his royal wedding,

While she, my mistress, cries out her eyes

There in her room, and takes no warmth from

Any word of any friend.

MEDEA

Oh, I wish

That lightning from heaven would split my head open.

Oh, what use have I now for life?

I would find my release in death

And leave hateful existence behind me.

CHORUS

O God and Earth and Heaven!

Did you hear what a cry was that

Which the sad wife sings?

Poor foolish one, why should you long

For that appalling rest?

The final end of death comes fast.

No need to pray for that.

Suppose your man gives honor

To another woman’s bed.

It often happens. Don’t be hurt.

God will be your friend in this.

You must not waste away

Grieving too much for him who shared your bed.

MEDEA

Great Themis, lady Artemis,* behold

The things I suffer, though I made him promise,

My hateful husband. I pray that I may see him,

Him and his bride and all their palace shattered

For the wrong they dare to do me without cause.

Oh, my father! Oh, my country! In what dishonor

I left you, killing my own brother for it. **

NURSE

DO you hear what she says, and how she cries

On Themis, the goddess of Promises, and on Zeus,