Penny Dreadfuls, 1912 · page 32 of 118
The Medea — page 32: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running dramatic verse from what appears to be a classical translation rather than a Victorian penny dreadful. The text is labeled "EURIPIDES" at the top and presents a passionate monologue by a woman (likely Medea) addressing a Leader character, in which she contrasts her own exile and abandonment with another woman's secure position, declares her willingness to face battle rather than endure childbirth, and warns that a woman wronged in love becomes dangerously vengeful. The Leader responds briefly, and the page ends with stage directions indicating the arrival of Creon, lord of Corinth.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
16 EURIPIDES And then, forsooth, ’tis they that face the call Of war, while we sit sheltered, hid from all Peril!— False mocking! Sooner would I stand Three times to face their battles, shield in hand, Than bear one child. But peace! There cannot be Ever the same tale told of thee and me. Thou hast this city, and thy father’s home, And joy of friends, and hope in days to come: But I, being citiless, am cast_aside By him that wedded me, a savage bride Won in far seas and left—no mother near, No brother, not one kinsman anywhere For harbour in this storm. Therefore of thee I ask one thing. If chance yet ope to me Some path, if even now m my hand can win Strength to requite this Jason for his sin, Betray me not! Oh, in all things but this, I know how full of fears a woman is, And faint at need, and shrinking from the light Of battle: but once spoil her of her right | In man’s love, and there moves, I warn thee well, \No bloodier spirit between heaven and hell. LEADER. I will betray thee not. It is but just, Thou smite him.—And that weeping in the dust And stormy tears, how should I blame them?. . Stay : ’Tis Creon, lord of Corinth, makes his way Hither, and bears, methinks, some word of weight. ECOmMiIcbooks:com |