[Sidenote: The Medea.] The best known among them is, perhaps, the _Medea_. In this play, as in the _Medea_ of Euripides, the part of the myth is treated in which Jason deserts his wife Medea to marry Creüsa, daughter of Creon, king of Corinth. Medea sends her two sons to Creüsa to give her a poisoned robe, which causes her death and that of her father Creon. Then Medea, in order to pain Jason, kills the two children. The following passage is taken from Medea’s reply to her nurse, who urges her to flee when the news is brought that Creon and Creüsa have been killed by the poisoned robe she had sent: Shall I fly? I? Were I already gone I would return for this, that I might see These new betrothals. Dost thou pause, my soul? This joy’s but the beginning of revenge. Thou dost but love if thou art satisfied To widow Jason. Seek new penalties; Honor is gone and maiden modesty— It were a light revenge pure hands could yield. Strengthen thy drooping spirit, stir up wrath, Drain from thy heart its all of ancient force, Thy deeds till now call honor; wake, and act, That they may see how light, how little worth, All former crime—the prelude of revenge! What was there great my novice hands could dare? What was the madness of my girlhood days? I am Medea now, through sorrow strong. Rejoice, because through thee thy brother died; Rejoice, because through thee his limbs were torn, Through thee thy father lost the golden fleece; Rejoice, that armed by thee his daughters slew Old Pelias! Seek revenge! No novice hand Thou bring’st to crime; what wilt thou do; what dart Let fly against thy hated enemy? I know not what my maddened spirit plots, Nor yet dare I confess it to myself! In folly I made haste—would that my foe Had children by this other! Mine are his. We’ll say Creüsa bore them! ’Tis enough; Through them my heart at last finds full revenge. My soul must be prepared for this last crime. Ye who were once my children, mine no more, Ye pay the forfeit for your father’s crimes. Awe strikes my spirit and benumbs my hand; My heart beats wildly; mother-love drives out Hate of my husband; shall I shed their blood— My children’s blood? Demented one, rage not, Be far from thee this crime! What guilt is theirs? Is Jason not their father?—guilt enough! And worse, Medea claims them as her sons. They are not sons of mine, so let them die! Nay, rather let them perish since they are! But they are innocent—my brother was! Fear’st thou? Do tears already mar thy cheek? Do wrath and love like adverse tides impel Now here, now there? As when the winds wage war, And the wild waves against each other smite, My heart is beaten; duty drives out fear, As wrath drives duty. Anger dies in love.[92]