Telling everyone that Jason is a worthless man.

But as to your talk about the king, consider

Yourself most lucky that exile is your punishment.

I, for my part, have always tried to calm down

The anger of the king, and wished you to remain.

But you will not give up your folly, continually

Speaking ill of him, and so you are going to be banished.

All the same, and in spite of your conduct, I’ll not desert

My friends, but have come to make some provision for you,

So that you and the children may not be penniless

Or in need of anything in exile. Certainly

Exile brings many troubles with it. And even

If you hate me, I cannot think badly of you.

MEDEA

O coward in every way—that is what I call you,

With bitterest reproach for your lack of manliness,

You have come, you, my worst enemy, have come to me!

It is not an example of overconfidence

Or of boldness thus to look your friends in the face,

Friends you have injured—no, it is the worst of all

Human diseases, shamelessness. But you did well

To come, for I can speak ill of you and lighten

My heart, and you will suffer while you are listening.

And first I will begin from what happened first.

I saved your life, and every Greek knows I saved it,

Who was a shipmate of yours aboard the Argo,

When you were sent to control the bulls that breathed fire

And yoke them, and when you would sow that deadly field.

Also that snake, who encircled with his many folds

The Golden Fleece and guarded it and never slept,

I killed, and so gave you the safety of the light.

And I myself betrayed my father and my home,

And came with you to Pelias’ land of Iolcus.

And then, showing more willingness to help than wisdom,

I killed him, Pelias, with a most dreadful death

At his own daughters’ hands, and took away your fear.

This is how I behaved to you, you wretched man,

And you forsook me, took another bride to bed,

Though you had children; for, if that had not been,

You would have had an excuse for another wedding.

Faith in your word has gone. Indeed, I cannot tell

Whether you think the gods whose names you swore by then

Have ceased to rule and that new standards are set up,

Since you must know you have broken your word to me.

O my right hand, and the knees which you often clasped

In supplication, how senselessly I am treated

By this bad man, and how my hopes have missed their mark!

Come, I will share my thoughts as though you were a friend—

You! Can I think that you would ever treat me well?

But I will do it, and these questions will make you

Appear the baser. Where am I to go? To my father’s?

Him I betrayed and his land when I came with you.