Page:Medea (Webster 1868).djvu/54

 Pity, pity me miserable wretch,

And never see me cast out desolate,

But take me to thy hearth in thy home and land.

So by the gods may thy desire of sons

Be brought to pass and mayst thou die content.

Aye, thou knowst not what find this thou hast found:

I'll stay thy childlessness, I'll have thee rear

A race of sons. Such philtres do I know.

For many reasons, lady, I am fain

This boon to give thee: for the gods' sake first:

Next for those sons whose birth thou dost assure;

For until now I am without all hope.

But 'tis thus with me: if indeed thou comst

Into my realm I will endeavour thee

Such host's protection as a just man may:

But this much, lady, I forewarn thee well,

I will not lead thee with me from this land;

Yet, if thyself thou comst into my house,

Thou shalt dwell sheltered and to none I'll yield thee.

Now from this soil thyself withdraw thy foot:

Both to my hosts and thee I would be leal.