Page:Medea (Webster 1868).djvu/31



And next my children is my city dear.

Ah me! How great an ill to man is love!

That is, I doubt, as fortune waits on it.

Zeus, be it not hid from thee who caused these ills!

Hence, thou weak fool, and free me from these troubles.

I am the troubled, with full store of troubles.

Ere long my guards shall thrust thee out by force.

Nay, nay, not thus. Oh but I pray thee, Creon.

Thou wilt cause violence, woman, as I see.