'Tis not the first nor second time, O King, That fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to bring My ruin. . . . How can any man, whose eyes Are wholesome, seek to rear his children wise Beyond men's wont? Much helplessness in arts Of common life, and in their townsmen's hearts Envy deep-set . . . so much their learning brings! Come unto fools with knowledge of new things, They deem it vanity, not knowledge. Aye, And men that erst for wisdom were held high, Feel thee a thorn to fret them, privily Held higher than they. So hath it been with me. A wise-woman I am; and for that sin To divers ill names men would pen me in; A seed of strife; an eastern dreamer; one Of brand not theirs; one hard to play upon . . . Ah, I am not so wondrous wise!--And now, To thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou? What dire deed? Do I tread so proud a path-- Fear me not thou!--that I should brave the wrath Of princes? Thou: what has thou ever done To wrong me? Granted thine own child to one Whom thy soul chose.--Ah, him out of my heart I hate; but thou, meseems, hast done thy part Not ill. And for thine houses' happiness I hold no grudge. Go: marry, and God bless Your issues. Only suffer me to rest Somewhere within this land. Though sore oppressed, I will be still, knowing mine own defeat.

Medea Monologue

Rehearse Medea's monologue