'Tis well. Give me an oath wherein to trust
And all that man could ask thou hast granted me.
Aegeus.
Dost trust me not? Or what thing troubleth thee?
Medea.
I trust thee. But so many, far and near,
Do hate me—all King Pelias' house, and here
Creon. Once bound by oaths and sanctities
Thou canst not yield me up for such as these
To drag from Athens. But a spoken word,
No more, to bind thee, which no God hath heard. . .
The embassies, methinks, would come and go:
They all are friends to thee. . . . Ah me, I know
Thou wilt not list to me! So weak am I,
And they full-filled with gold and majesty.
Aegeus.
Methinks 'tis a far foresight, this thine oath.
Still, if thou so wilt have it, nothing loath
Am I to serve thee. Mine own hand is so
The stronger, if I have this plea to show
Thy persecutors: and for thee withal
The bond more sure.—On what God shall I call?
Swear by the Earth thou treadest, by the Sun,
Sire of my sires, and all the gods as one. . . .
Aegeus.