Classic Poem

Thus far obliging Love employ'd her Art,
But now Revenge must act a tragick Part;
Medea feigns a mortal Quarrel bred
Betwixt her, and the Partner of her Bed;
On this Pretence to Pelia 's Court she flies,
Who languishing with Age and Sickness lies:
His innocent Daughters, with inveigling Wiles,
And well-dissembled Friendship, she beguiles:
The strange Atchievements of her Art she tells,
With Æson 's Cure, and long on that she dwells;
Till them to firm Perswasion she has won,
The same for their old Father may be done:
For him they court her to employ her Skill,
And put upon the Cure what Price she will
At first she's mute, and with a grave Pretence
Of Difficulty, holds 'em in Suspense;
Then promises, and bids 'em, from the Fold
Chuse out a Ram, the most infirm and old;
That so by Fact their Doubts may be remov'd,
And first, on him, the Operation prov'd.
A wreath-horn'd Ram is brought, so far o'er-grown
With Years, his Age was to that Age unknown;
Of Sense too dull the piercing Point to feel,
And scarce sufficient Blood to stain the Steel
His Carcass she into a Cauldron threw,
With Drugs whose vital Qualities she knew;
His Limbs grow less, he casts his Horns and Years,
And tender Bleatings strike their wondring Ears.
Then instantly leaps forth a frisking Lamb,
That seeks (too young to graze) a suckling Dam.
The Sisters, thus confirm'd with the Success,
Her Promise with renew'd Entreaty press;
To countenance the Cheat, three Nights and Days
Before Experiment th' Inchantress stays;
Then into limpid Water, from the Springs,
Weeds, and Ingredients of no Force she flings;
With antique Ceremonies for Pretence,
And rambling Rhymes without a Word of Sense.
Mean while the King with all his Guards lay bound,
In Magick Sleep, scarce that of Death so sound;
The Daughters now are by the Sorc'ress led
Into his Chamber, and surround his Bed
Your Father's Health's concern'd, and can ye stay?
Unnat'ral Nymphs, why this unkind Delay?
Unsheath your Swords, dismiss his lifeless Blood,
And I'll recruit it with a vital Flood:
Your Father's Life and Health is in your Hand,
And can ye thus like idle Gazers stand?
Unless you are of common Sense berest,
If yet one Spark of Piety is left,
Dispatch a Father's Cure, and disengage
The Monarch from his toilsome Load of Age:
Come — drench your Weapons in his putrid Gore,
'Tis Charity to wound, when Wounding will restore.
Thus urg'd, the poor deluded Maids proceed,
Betray'd by Zeal, to an inhumane Deed,
And, in Compassion, make a Father bleed.
Yes, she who had the kindest, tend rest Heart,
Is foremost to perform the bloody Part.
Yet, tho' to act the Butchery betray'd,
They could not bear to see the Wounds they made;
With Looks averted, backward they advance,
Then strike, and stab, and leave the Blows to Chance.
Waking in Consternation, he essays
(Weltring in Blood) his feeble Arms to raise:
Environ'd with so many Swords — from whence
This barb'rous Usage? what is my Offence?
What fatal Fury, what infernal Charm,
'Gainst a kind Father does his Daughters arm?
Hearing his Voice, as Thunder-struck, they stopt,
Their Resolution, and their Weapons dropt:
Medea then the mortal Blow bestows,
And that perform'd, the tragick Scene to close,
His Corpse into the boiling Cauldron throws.
Then, dreading the Revenge that must ensue,
High mounted on her Dragon-Coach she flew;
And in her stately Progress thro' the Skies,
Beneath her shady Pelion first she spies,
With Othrys , that above the Clouds did rise;
With skilful Chiron 's Cave, and neighb'ring Ground,
For old Cerambus ' strange Escape renown'd,
By Nymphs deliver'd when the World was drown'd;
Who him with unexpected Wings supply'd,
When delug'd Hills a safe Retreat deny'd
Æolian Pisane on her Left Hand
She saw, and there the statu'd Dragon stand;
With Ida 's Grove, where Bacchus , to disguise
His Son's bold Theft, and to secure the Prize,
Made the stoln Steer a Stag to represent;
Cocytus ' Father's sandy Monument;
And Fields that held the murder'd Sire's Remains,
Where howling Maera frights the startled Plains.
Euryphilus ' high Town, with Tow'rs defac'd
By Hercules , and Matrons more disgrac'd
With sprouting Horns, in signal Punishment,
From Juno , or resenting Venus sent.
Then Rhodes , which Phaebus did so dearly prize,
And Jove no less severely did chastize;
For he the Wizzard Native's pois'ning Sight,
That us'd the Farmer's hopeful Crops to blight,
In Rage o'erwhelm'd with everlasting Night.
Cartheia 's ancient Walls come next in view,
Where once the Sire almost a Statue grew
With Wonder, which a strange Event did move;
His Daughter turn'd into a Turtle-Dove.
Then Hyrie 's Lake, and Tempe 's Field o'er-ran,
Fam'd for the Boy who there became a Swan;
For there enamour'd Phyllius , like a Slave,
Perform'd what Tasks his Paramour would crave.
For Presents he had Mountain-Vultures caught,
And from the Desart a tame Lion brought;
Then a wild Bull commanded to subdue,
The conquer'd Savage by the Horns he drew;
But, mock'd so oft, the Treatment he disdains,
And from the craving Boy this Prize detains.
Then thus in Choller the resenting Lad;
Won't you deliver him? — You'll wish you had;
Nor sooner said, but, in a peevish Mood,
Leapt from the Precipice on which he stood:
The Standers-by were struck with fresh Surprize,
Instead of falling, to behold him rise
A snowy Swan, and soaring to the Skies.
But dearly the rash Prank his Mother cost,
Who ignorantly gave her Son for lost;
For his Misfortune wept, till she became
A Lake, and still renown'd with Hyrie 's Name.
Thence to Latona 's Isle, where once were seen,
Transform'd to Birds, a Monarch, and his Queen.
Far off she saw how old Cephisus mourn'd
His Son, into a Seele by Phaebus turn'd;
And where, astonish'd at a stranger Sight,
Eumelus gaz'd on his wing'd Daughter's Flight.
Ætolian Pleuron she did next survey,
Where Sons a Mother's Murder did essay,
But sudden Plumes the Matron bore away.
On her Right Hand, Cyllene , a fair Soil,
Fair, till Menephron there the beauteous Hill
Attempted with fowl Incest to defile.
Her harness'd Dragons now direct she drives
For Corinth , and at Corinth she arrives;
Where, if what old Tradition tells, be true,
In former Ages Men from Mushrooms grew.
But here Medea finds her Bed supply'd,
During her Absence, by another Bride;
And hopeless to recover her lost Game,
She sets both Bride and Palace in a Flame.
Nor could a Rival's Death her Wrath asswage,
Nor stopt at Creon 's Family her Rage;
She murders her own Infants, in Despight
To faithless Jason , and in Jason 's Sight;
Yet e'er his Sword could reach her, up she springs,
Securely mounted on her Dragons Wings.