The priestess of Phoebus; I look oh her as my mother.CreusaUntil thou earnest unto man’s estate, what nurture hadst thou?IonThe altar fed me, and the bounty of each casual guest.CreusaWoe is thy mother, then, whoe’er she was!IonMaybe my birth was some poor woman’s wrong.CreusaHast thou any store, for thy dress is costly enough?IonThe god I serve gives me these robes to wear.CreusaWert thou never eager to inquire into thy birth?IonAh! yes, lady! but I have no clue at all to guide me.CreusaAlas! I know another woman who hath suffered as thy mother did.IonWho is she? If she would but help me in the task, how happy should I be!Creusa’Tis she on whose account I have preceded my husband hither.IonWhat are thy wishes? be sure I will serve thee, lady.CreusaI would fain obtain a secret answer from Apollo’s oracle.IonName it, then; the rest will I undertake for thee.CreusaHear, then, this story. Yet am I ashamed.IonThus wilt thou accomplish naught, for shame is a goddess slow to act.CreusaA friend of mine asserts that Phoebus lay with her.IonPhoebus with a mortal woman? Stranger lady, say not so.CreusaYea, and she bare the god a child without her father’s knowledge.