Page:Medea (Webster 1868).djvu/43

 What happier chance could I, an exile, find

Than this, to marry me with the king's child?

Not, thought which galls thee, sickened of thy bed

And wounded with desire for a new bride;

Nor striving for the crown of many sons—

For those I have suffice, I nought complain—

But, that which makes most, that we prosperous

Should dwell and not know scanting; well aware

That every friend will shun the poor man's path.

Also that I might rear as fits my house

My children, and, giving brothers to thy sons,

Bind them in one, and having interknit

My family, live on in happy case.

For what needst thou more children? But to me

'Tis profit to advance my living sons

By those that shall be. Have I ill resolved?

Thyself, wert thou not galled about thy bed,

Couldst never say it. But to such a pass

You women are come now, that, your bed safe,

You think you have everything; but let ill luck

Touch that, and all that fairest is and best

You count most hateful. 'Twere a goodly boon

If men could raise their children otherwhence