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