Ion

Euripides

Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. I. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1906.

  1. In Athens, when to my house he comes.
Old Servant
  1. That is not wisely said; I may object to thy plan as thou to mine.
Creusa
  1. How so? Hast thou the same mistrust that I experience?
Old Servant
  1. Thou wilt get the credit of his death, although thou slay him not.
Creusa
  1. True; men say stepdames are jealous of their husband’s children.
Old Servant
  1. Kill him here then, that so thou mayst deny the murder.
Creusa
  1. Well, thus I do anticipate the pleasure.
Old Servant
  1. Yea, and thou wilt from thy husband keep the very secret he would keep from thee.
Creusa
  1. Dost know then what to do? Take from my arm
  2. this golden bracelet, Athena’s gift, some ancient craftsman’s work, and seek the spot where my lord is offering secret sacrifice; then when their feasting is o’er and they are about to pour drink-offering to the gods, take this phial in thy robe and pour it into the young man’s goblet;
  3. not for all, but for him alone, providing a separate draught, who thinks to lord it o’er my house. And if once it pass his lips, never shall he come to glorious Athens, but here abide, of life bereft.
Old Servant
  1. Go thou within the house of our public hosts;
  2. I the while will set about my appointed task. On! aged foot, grow young again in action, for all that time saith no to thee. Go, aid thy mistress against her enemy, help slay
    and drag him from her house.
  3. ’Tis well to honour piety in the hour of fortune, but when thou wouldst harm thy foe, no law doth block thy path.
Chorus
  1. Daughter of Demeter, goddess of highways, queen as thou art of haunting powers of darkness,
  2. oh! guide as well the hand that fills by day a cup of death, against those to whom my revered mistress is sending a philtre of the gore that dripped from hellish Gorgon’s severed head,
  3. yea, ’gainst him who would obtrude upon the halls of the Erechthidae. Never may alien, from alien stock, lord it o’er my city,
  4. no! none save noble Erechtheus’ sons!
Chorus
  1. For if this deadly deed and my lady’s aims pass unfulfilled, and the right moment for her daring go by, and with it the hope which now sustains her, either will she seize the whetted knife
  2. or fasten the noose about her neck, and by ending one sorrow by another will go down to other phases of existence. For never will that daughter of a noble line,