Penny Dreadfuls, 1912 · page 68 of 118
The Medea — page 68: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Victorian Page Analysis This is a page of running prose dialogue from a classical dramatic text—specifically a scene from Euripides featuring the characters Leader, Jason, and a Woman. The page number is 52. Jason delivers a lengthy speech praising the Woman for her wisdom in accepting their separation, assuring their Children of his continued care and divine support, and expressing hope to see them grown strong. The Woman responds with visible emotion—her face turned away, tears on her cheek—and Jason questions whether she accepts his blessings. The text is formatted as dramatic verse with character names in caps preceding their speeches. This appears to be from a Victorian edition of classical drama, not a penny dreadful as initially suggested by the premise.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
52 EURIPIDES LEADER. ) Jy a . ‘* B| . i } re O’er mine eyes too there stealeth a pale tear: Let the evil rest, O God, let it rest here! | JASON. Womazn, indeed I praise thee now, nor say Ill of thine other hour. ’Tis nature’s way, A woman needs must stir herself to wrath, When work of marriage by so strange a path Crosseth her lord. But thou, thine heart doth wend The happier road. ‘Thou hast seen, ere quite the end, What choice must needs be stronger: which to do Shows a wise-minded woman. . . . And for you, Children; your father never has forgot Your needs. If God but help him, he hath wrought A strong deliverance for your weakness. Yea, I think you, with your brethren, yet one day Shall be the mightiest voices in this land. Do you grow tall and strong. Your father’s hand Guideth all else, and whatso power divine Hath alway helped him. . . . Ah, may it be mine To see you yet in manhood, stern of brow, Strong-armed, set high o’er those that hate me... . How? Woman, thy face is turned. Thy cheek is swept With pallor of strange tears. Dost not accept Gladly and of good will my benisons~ \ - j -