41
How I desire to serve thee and thy sons,
Yet thou'lt not like good gifts but wantonly
Dost spurn thy friends, therefore shalt mourn the more.
Medea.
Begone, for longing after thy new bride
Seizes thee so much tarrying from her home: 625 (624)
Take her, for it is like—yea, and possessed
By a god I will declare it—thou dost wed
With such a wedding as thou'lt wish undone.
CHORUS.
Strophe I.
The wild loves that force eager way
Nor worth nor fame on man confer, 630 (630)
But if come Cypris with meet sway
There is no gracious god like her.
Oh never, queen, I pray,
Drive from thy golden bow into my heart
The escapeless passion-poisoned dart. 635 (634)
