_Medea:_ How hard the task to turn the soul from wrath, when once To wrath inclined; how 'tis the creed of sceptered kings To swerve not from the purposed course they once have taken, 205 Full well I know, for I have tasted royalty. For, though by present storms of ill I'm overwhelmed, An exile, suppliant, lone, forsaken, all forlorn, I once in happier times a royal princess shone, And traced my proud descent from heavenly Phoebus' self. 210 My father's realm extended wide o'er all the land Where Phasis' gentle waters flow, o'er Scythia's plains Whose rivers sweeten Pontus' briny waves; where, too, Thermodon's banks inclose the race of warlike maids, Whose gleaming shields strike terror to their foes. All this 215 My father held in sway. And I, of noble birth, And blessed of heaven, in royal state was high upraised. Then princes humbly sought my hand in wedlock, mine, Who now must sue. O changeful fortune, thou my throne 220 Hast reft away, and given me exile in its stead. Trust not in kingly realms, since fickle chance may strew Their treasures to the winds. Lo, this is regal, this The work of kings, which time nor change cannot undo: To succor the afflicted, to provide at need 225 A trusty refuge for the suppliant. This alone I brought of all my Colchian treasure, this renown, This very flower of fame,[11] that by my arts I saved The bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the gods. My princely gift to Greece is Orpheus, that sweet bard 230 Who can the trees in willing bondage draw, and melt The crag's hard heart. Mine too are Boreas' wingéd sons, And Leda's heaven-born progeny, and Lynceus, he, Whose glance can pierce the distant view--yea, all the Greeks, Save Jason; for I mention not the king of kings, The leader of the leaders; he is mine alone, My labor's recompense; the rest I give to you. 235 Nay, come, O king, arraign me, and rehearse my crimes. But stay! for I'll confess them all. The only crime Of which I stand accused is this--the Argo saved. Suppose my maiden scruples had opposed the deed; Suppose my filial piety had stayed my hand: Then had the mighty chieftains fall'n, and in their fate All Greece had been o'erwhelmed; then this, thy son-in-law, 240 Had felt the bull's consuming breath, and perished there. Nay, nay, let fortune, when she will, my doom decree; I glory still that kings have owed their lives to me. But what reward I reap for all my glorious deeds Is in thy hands. Convict me, if thou wilt, of sin, 245 But give him back for whom I sinned. O Creon, see, I own that I am guilty. This much thou didst know, When first I clasped thy knees, a humble suppliant, And sought the shelter of thy royal clemency. Some little corner of thy kingdom now I ask, In which to hide my grief.