Page:Medea (Webster 1868).djvu/93



Oh, sons, much loved!

Of their mother not thee.

And yet thou didst slay them.

Making thee woe.

Alas! alas! I, a woeful man,

Desire to kiss the dear lips of my boys.

Thou callst on them now, hast welcomes now;

Then didst reject them.

In the gods' name,

Give me to touch my children's soft flesh.

It may not be: thy words are vain waste.

Oh Zeus, dost thou hear how I'm kept at bay,