Page:Medea (Webster 1868).djvu/34

 To such a folly that, when it was his

Driving me from his land to thwart my schemes,

He yields me that I stay here yet this day,

In which three of my foes I'll do to death,

The father, and the girl, and him my husband.

But, having many ways of death for them,

I know not, friends, which first to take in hand.

Whether shall I set fire to the bridal home,

Or, stealing silent to the nuptial bed,

Pash down my whetted dagger to the heart?

But there's one thing against me. Were I caught

Entering the house and working to mine ends,

Then would my death make laughter for my foes.

Better the easier way, and most akin

To my birthright skill, to take them off by drugs.

So be it then.

They dead, what city shall receive me in?

What host will, offering me a land of refuge

And home assured, rescue my life? There's none.

Why then, still waiting for a little while

If any tower of safety show for us,

Silent and subtle I'll to this work of death.

But, if a fate resistless drives me forth,