The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English. in Twenty Volumes
General
The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06: Masterpieces of German Literature Translated into English. in Twenty Volumes
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
And whoso harbors him, or gives him aid,
After three days and nights are come and gone,
Upon that man I here declare the doom
Of death, if he be burgher; if a king,
Or city-state, then war shall be proclaimed.
So runs the Amphictyons' reverend decree,
The which I here proclaim, as is most meet,
That each may know its terms, and so beware.--
The blessing of the gods upon this house!
[_He turns to depart._]
JASON. Why stand ye there, ye walls, and crash not down
To save this king the pains of slaying me?
KING. A moment yet, sir Herald. Hear this, too.
[_He turns to_ JASON.]
Think'st thou I rue the promise I have made?
If I could think thee guilty, ay, wert thou
My very son, I'd give thee up to these
That seek thee. But thou art not! Wherefore, I
Will give thee shelter. Stay thou here.--Who dares
To question Creon's friend, whose innocence
Stands pledged by mine own words? Who dares, I say,
To lay a hand upon my son to be?
Yea, Herald, on my son to be, the spouse
Of this my daughter! 'Twas my dearest wish
In happy days long past, when Fortune smiled;
Now, when he's compassed round by stormy waves
Of evil fortune, it shall come to pass.
Ay, she shall be thy wife, and thou shalt stay
Here, with thy father. And I will myself
Make answer for it to the Amphictyons.
Who now will cry him guilty, when the king
Hath sworn him free from blame, and given him
The hand of his own daughter?
(_To the_ HERALD.)
Take my words
To those that sent thee hither. Go in peace!
The blessing of the gods be on thy head!
[_The_ HERALD _goes._]
KING (_turning to_ MEDEA).
This woman, whom the wilderness spewed up
To be a bane to thee and all good men,
Her that hath wrought the crimes men lay to thee,
Her do I banish forth from out this land
And all its borders. Death shall be her lot
And portion, if the morrow find her here!
(_To_ MEDEA.)
Depart from out my fathers' pious town,
And make the air thou poisonest pure again!
MEDEA. Is that thy sentence? Falls it, then, on me,
And me alone? And yet I say to thee,
O king, I did it not!
KING. Nay, thou hast done
Enough of evil since he saw thee first.
Away with thee from out my house and town!
MEDEA (_turning to _JASON).
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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