18
For the feast with its present fullness alone
Is itself a delight for men.
Chorus.
I heard a voice of sighs 195 (204)
And groaning long laments,
Where she, with shrilly cries,
Her bitter anguish vents
Against the traitor her false lord,
And, bowed with wrong, she makes her prayer 200 (207)
To Themis, child of Zeus, whose care
Is the plighted word—
Themis, she
Who hither to our Hellas brought her,
Crossing o'er the night-dusk water, 205 (211)
The salt straits of the unending sea.
Medea.
Women of Corinth, I come from the house
Lest ye should blame me. I know many men
Are counted arrogant, some that they keep from sight,
Some that they are in public, and to those 210 (216)
Who walk in calm comes ill repute of sloth.
