CREON

Then you’ll be removed by force by one of my men.

MEDEA

NO, Creon, not that! But do listen, I beg you.

CREON

Woman, you seem to want to create a disturbance.

MEDEA

I will go into exile. This is not what I beg for.

CREON

Why then this violence and clinging to my hand?

MEDEA

Allow me to remain here just for this one day,

So I may consider where to live in my exile,

And look for support for my children, since their father

Chooses to make no kind of provision for them.

Have pity on them! You have children of your own.

It is natural for you to look kindly on them.

For myself I do not mind if I go into exile.

It is the children being in trouble that I mind.

CREON

There is nothing tyrannical about my nature,

And by showing mercy I have often been the loser.

Even now I know that I am making a mistake.

All the same you shall have your will. But this I tell you,

That if the light of heaven tomorrow shall see you,

You and your children in the confines of my land,

You die. This word I have spoken is firmly fixed.

But now, if you must stay, stay for this day alone.

For in it you can do none of the things I fear.

(Exit Creon with his attendants.)

CHORUS

Oh, unfortunate one! Oh, cruel!

Where will you turn? Who will help you?

What house or what land to preserve you

From ill can you find?

Medea, a god has thrown suffering

Upon you in waves of despair.

MEDEA

Things have gone badly every way. No doubt of that.

But not these things this far, and don’t imagine so.

There are still trials to come for the new-wedded pair,

And for their relations pain that will mean something.

Do you think that I would ever have fawned on that man

Unless I had some end to gain or profit in it?

I would not even have spoken or touched him with my hands.

But he has got to such a pitch of foolishness

That, though he could have made nothing of all my plans

By exiling me, he has given me this one day

To stay here, and in this I will make dead bodies

Of three of my enemies—father, the girl, and my husband.

I have many ways of death which I might suit to them,

And do not know, friends, which one to take in hand;

Whether to set fire underneath their bridal mansion,

Or sharpen a sword and thrust it to the heart,

Stealing into the palace where the bed is made.

There is just one obstacle to this. If I am caught

Breaking into the house and scheming against it,

I shall die, and give my enemies cause for laughter.

It is best to go by the straight road, the one in which

I am most skilled, and make away with them by poison.