JASON: How vile a Mother, O my sons, was yours!
MEDEA: How did ye perish thro' your Father's lust!
JASON: But my right hand was guiltless of their death.
MEDEA: Not so thy cruel taunts, and that new marriage.
JASON: Was my new marriage a sufficient cause
For thee to murder them?
MEDEA:Canst thou suppose
Such wrongs sit light upon the female breast?
[tr. Wodhull (1782)]

JASON: My children, a bad mother have you found.
MEDEA: My sons, you perish'd through your father's folly.
JASON: Yet my right hand plung'd not the muurderous sword.
MEDEA: But thy foul wrongs, and thy new nuptials plung'd it.
JASON: And for these nupturals hast thou kill'd thy sons?
MEDEA: This to a woman deem'st thou a slight pain?
[tr. Potter (1814)]

JASON: Oh sons, how foul a mother have ye had!
MEDEA: Oh boys, how died ye by your father's guilt!
JASON: Not this right hand of mine slew them, indeed.
MEDEA: No, but thine outrage and new wedding ties.
JASON: So for a bed lost thou thoughtst fit to slay them?
MEDEA: Dost thou count that a light wrong to a woman?
[tr. Webster (1868)]

JASON: O my children, how vile a mother ye have found!
MEDEA: My sons, your father's feeble lust has been your ruin!
JASON: 'Twas not my hand, at any rate, that slew them.
MEDEA: No, but thy foul treatment of me, and thy new marriage.
JASON: Didst think that marriage cause enough to murder them?
MEDEA: Dost think a woman counts this a trifling injury?
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]

JASON: My children, what a wicked mother have ye found!
MEDEA: My sons, how did ye perish by your father's fault!
JASON: Nevertheless my hand slew them not.
MEDEA: But injury, and thy new nuptials.
JASON: And on account of thy bed didst thou think fit to slay them?
MEDEA: Dost thou deem this a slight evil to a woman?
[tr. Buckley (1892)]

JASON: O children mine, what miscreant mother had ye!
MEDEA: O sons, destroyed by your own father's lust!
JASON: Sooth, 'twas no hand of mine that murdered them.
MEDEA: Nay, but thine insolence and thy new-forged bonds.
JASON: How, claim the right for wedlock's sake to slay them!
MEDEA: A light affliction count'st thou this to woman?
[tr. Way (Loeb) (1894)]

JASON: Oh, what a womb of sin my children bore!
MEDEA: Sons, did ye perish for your father's shame?
JASON: How? It was not my hand that murdered them.
MEDEA: 'Twas thy false wooings, 'twas thy trampling pride.
JASON: Thou hast said it! For thy lust of love they died.
MEDEA: And love to women a slight thing should be?
[tr. Murray (1906)]

JASON: O children, what a wicked mother Fate gave you!
MEDEA: O sons, your father’s treachery cost you your lives.
JASON: It was not my hand that killed my sons.
MEDEA:No, not your hand;
But your insult to me, and your new-wedded wife.
JASON: You thought that reason enough to murder them, that I
No longer slept with you?
MEDEA:And is that injury
A slight one, do you imagine, to a woman?
[tr. Vellacott (1963)]

JASON: O children, what an evil mother you encountered!
MEDEA: O children, how your father’s illness killed you!
JASON: At least it wasn’t my right hand that killed them.
MEDEA: No, your insults and your recent marriage.
JASON: Was it really for sex that you decided to kill them?
MEDEA: Do you think that this is small suffering for a woman?
[tr. Podlecki (1989)]

JASON: Children, what an evil mother you got.
MEDEA: Children, how you have perished by your father's fault.
JASON: It was not my hand, you know, that killed them.
MEDEA: No: it was the outrage of your new marriage.
JASON: Did you really think it right to kill them because of a marriage?
MEDEA: Do you imagine that loss of love is a trivial grief for a woman?
[tr. Kovacs (Perseus)]

JASON: Children, what an evil mother you got!
MEDEA: Children, how you have perished by your father's fault!
JASON: It was not my hand, you know, that killed them.
MEDEA: No: it was the outrage of your new marriage.
JASON: Did you really think it right to kill them because of a marriage?
MEDEA: Do you imagine that loss of this is a trivial grief for a woman?
[tr. Kovacs (Loeb) (1994)]

JASON: O children, what a wicked mother you had!
MEDEA: O my sons, how your father's weakness caused your deaths!
JASON: Yet it was no right hand of mine that dealt them ruin!
MEDEA: No, it was your lustful heart and that new marriage of yours.
JASON: What? You decided to kill them because I loved another?
MEDEA: Do you think this is a minor annoyance to a woman?
[tr. Davie (1996)]

JASON: My darling children! What a despicable woman gave birth to you!
MEDEA: My darling children! What a despicable man gave you such a destruction!
JASON: They were not murdered by my hand!
MEDEA: No, what killed them was the shame and your new marriage.
JASON: Was an empty bed a good enough reason for your murders?
MEDEA: Do you think an empty bed is such a small thing for a woman?
[tr. Theodoridis (2004)]

JASON: Oh children, what a terrible mother you had.
MEDEA: Oh children, how you were destroyed by your father’s disease.
JASON: My right hand did not strike them.
MEDEA: But your abuse and your new marriage.
JASON: You thought the marriage bed was worth your children’s lives?
MEDEA: Do you think this a trivial wrong for a woman?
[tr. Luschnig (2007)]

JASON:O my children,
you had such an evil mother!
MEDEA:O my children,
victims of your father’s evil actions!
JASON: At least it was not my hand that killed them.
MEDEA: No. It was an insult — your new marriage.
JASON: Was it right to murder them for that?
MEDEA: Do you think an insult to a woman
is something insignificant?
[tr. Johnston (2008)]

JASON: My children, how kakē is the mother you have found!
MEDEA: My sons, your father’s lust has been your ruin.
JASON: It was not my right hand that slew them.
MEDEA: No, your hubris and your new marriage-bed.
JASON: Did you think that that was reason enough to murder them?
MEDEA: Do you think a woman finds that a tiny pain?
[tr. Coleridge / Ceragioli / Nagy / Hour25]

JASON: Oh, children, what a wicked mother you had!
MEDEA: Oh, sons, you were ruined by your father's disease.
JASON: It wasn't my right hand that murdered them.
MEDEA: No, it was your insolence, your new-forged marriage.
JASON: You judged it right to kill them for your bed?
MEDEA: You think that pain's a small thing for a woman?
[tr. Kovacs / Kitzinger (2016)]

               Their homes
Our women have deserted, on pretence
That they in mystic orgies are engaged;
On the umbrageous hills they chant the praise
Of this new God, whoe'er he be, this Bacchus;
Him in their dances they revere, and place
Amid their ranks huge goblets fraught with wine:
Some fly to pathless deserts, where they meet
Their paramours, while they in outward shew
Are Mænedes by holy rites engrossed.
Yet Venus more than Bacchus they revere.
[tr. Wodhull (1809)]

The women have left our homes in contrived Bacchic rites, and rush about in the shadowy mountains, honoring with dances this new deity Dionysus, whoever he is. I hear that mixing-bowls stand full in the midst of their assemblies, and that they each creep off different ways into secrecy to serve the beds of men, on the pretext that they are Maenads worshipping; but they consider Aphrodite before Bacchus.
[tr. Buckley (1850)]

Our women all have left their homes, to join
These fabled mysteries. On the shadowy rocks
Frequent they sit, this God of yesterday,
Dionysus, whosoe'er he be, with revels
Dishonorable honoring. In the midst
Stand the crowned goblets; and each stealing forth,
This way and that, creeps to a lawless bed;
In pretext, holy sacrificing Mænads,
But serving Aphrodite more than Bacchus.
[tr. Milman (1865)]

Our women have deserted from their homes,
Pretending Bacchic rites, and now they lurk
In the shady hill-tops reverencing forsooth
This Dionysus, this new deity.
Full bowls of wine are served out to the throng;
And scattered here and there through the glades,
The wantons hurry to licentious love.
They call themselves the priestess Mænades;
Bacchus invoke, but Aphrodite serve.
[tr. Rogers (1872), l. 200ff]

I hear that our women-folk have left their homes on pretence of Bacchic rites, and on the wooded hills rush wildly to and fro, honouring in the dance this new god Dionysus, whoe’er he is; and in the midst of each revel-rout the brimming wine-bowl stands, and one by one they steal away to lonely spots to gratify their lust, pretending forsooth that they are Mænads bent on sacrifice, though it is Aphrodite they are placing before the Bacchic god.
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]

How from their homes our women have gone forth
Feigning a Bacchic rapture, and rove wild
O'er wooded hills, in dances honouring
Dionysus, this new God -- whoe'er he be. ⁠
And midst each revel-rout the wine-bowls stand
Brimmed: and to lonely nooks, some here, some there,
They steal, to work with men the deed of shame,
In pretext Maenad priestesses, forsooth,
But honouring Aphroditê more than Bacchus.
[tr. Way (1898)]

               Our own
Wives, our own sisters, from their hearths are flown
To wild and secret rites; and cluster there
High on the shadowy hills, with dance and prayer
To adore this new-made God, this Dionyse,
Whate'er he be! -- And in their companies
Deep wine-jars stand, and ever and anon
Away into the loneliness now one
Steals forth, and now a second, maid or dame,
Where love lies waiting, not of God! The flame,
They say, of Bacchios wraps them. Bacchios! Nay,
'Tis more to Aphrodite that they pray.
[tr. Murray (1902)]

That our women have abandoned their homes
in fake bacchic revels, and in the deep-shaded
mountains are roaming around, honoring with dances
the new-made god Dionysus, whoever he is;
that wine-bowls are set among the sacred companies
full to the brim, and that one by one the women go crouching
into the wilderness, to serve the lechery of men --
they profess to be maenads making sacrifice,
but actually they put Aphrodite before the Bacchic god.
[tr. Kirk (1970)]

Our women, I discover, have abandoned their homes on some pretence of Bacchic worship, and go gadding about in the woods on the mountain side, dancing in honour of this upstart god Dionysus, whoever he may be. They tell me, in the midst of each group of revellers stands a bowl full of wine; and the women go creeping off this way and that to lonely places and there give themselves to lecherous men, under the excuse that they are Maenad priestesses; though in their ritual Aphrodite comes before Bacchus.
[tr. Vellacott (1973)]

They leave their home, desert their children
Follow the new fashion and join the Bacchae
Flee the hearth to mob the mountains -- those contain
Deep shadows of course, secret caves to hide
Lewd games for this new god -- Dionysos!
That's the holy spirit newly discovered.
Dionysos! Their ecstasy is flooded down
In brimming bowls of wine -- so much for piety!
Soused, with all the senses roused, they crawl
Into the bushes and there of course a man
Awaits them. All part of the service for for this
Mysterious deity. The hypocrisy? All they care about
Is getting serviced.
[tr. Soyinka (1973)]

Our women gone, abandoning their homes,
pretending to be bacchae, massing
in the bushy mountains, this latest divinity
Dionysos (whoever he is) honouring and chorusing,
filling and setting amidst the thiasus
wine-bowls, and one by one in solitude
sneaking off to cater to male bidding, --
supposedly as sacrificial maenads,
but Aphrodite ranks before their Bacchic One.
[tr. Neuburg (1988)]

Our women, I am told, have left their homes,
in a religious trance -- what travesty! --
and scamper up and down the wooded mountains, dancing
in honor of this newfangled God, Dionysus,
whoever he might be.
In the middle of each female group
of revelers, I hear,
stands a jar of wine, brimming! And that taking turns,
they steal away, one here, one there, to shady nooks,
where they satisfy the lechery of men,
pretending to be priestesses,
performing their religious duties. Ha!
That performance reeks more of Aphrodite than of Bacchus.
[tr. Cacoyannis (1982)]

Our women have abandoned our homes
And, in a jacked-up frenzy of phony inspiration,
Riot in the dark mountains,
Honoring this upstart god, Dionysos --
Whatever he is -- dancing in his chorus.
Full jugs of wine stand in their midst
And each woman slinks off
To the wilderness to serve male lust,
Pretending they are praying priestesses,
But Aphrodite leads them, not Bacchus.
[tr. Blessington (1993)]

Our women have abandoned their homes
for the sham revelries of Bacchus
frisking about on the dark-shadowed mountains
honoring with their dances the latest god, Dionysius, whoever he is.
They've set up their mixing bowls brimming with wine
amidst their cult gatherings, and each lady slinks off in a different direction
to some secluded wilderness to service the lusts of men.
They pretend to be maenads performing sacrifices
but in reality they rank Aphrodite's pleasures before Bacchus!
[tr. Esposito (1998)]

These women of ours have left their homes
and run away to the dark mountains, pretending
to be Bacchants. It's this brand-new god,
Dionysus, whoever that is; they're dancing for him!
They gather in throngs around full bowls
of wine; then one by one they sneak away
to lonely places where they sleep with men.
Priestesses they call themselves! Maenads!
It's Aphrodite they put first, not Bacchus.
[tr. Woodruff (1999)]

               Women leave
Our houses for bogus revels (“Bakkhic” indeed!),
Dashing through the dark shade of mountain forests
To honor with their dancing this new god,
Dionysos -- whoever he may be --
And right in their midst they set full bowls of wine,
And slink into the thickets to meet men there,
Saying they are maenads sacrificing
When they really rank Aphrodite first,
Over Bakkhos!
[tr. Gibbons/Segal (2000)]

The women have left our homes in fictitious ecstatic rites and flit about on the thick-shaded mountains, honoring the new god Dionysus, whoever he is, with their dancing. They set up full wine bowls in the middle of their assembles and sneak off, one here, one there, to tryst in private with men. The pretext for all of this is that they are maenads, performing their rites, but they hold Aphrodite in higher regard than the bacchic god.
[tr. Kovacs (2002)]

I hear our women have flown from their proper place in the home -- dancing about in the shadowy hills in sham ecstasy for this newfound Dionysus! And these wine-befuddled women slink into the darkness, drawn by the sirens of lust. Fine high priestesses of the new god! They seem to make more worship of Aphrodite than of Bacchus!
[tr. Rao/Wolf (2004)]

I heard that our women have left their homes and gone off to the mountains dancing the Bacchic dances! Some new, young god! Utter rubbish! There they are, placing great tubs full of wine in the centre of their group, in the middle of nowhere and off they go, one here, another there, rolling around with any man they come across and giving the excuse that they are maenads; but what are they doing? Serving Dionysos? No way! They’re serving Aphrodite!
[tr. Theodoridis (2005)]

The women have left us, abandoning their homes in
phony Bacchic worship and that they gad about on
the bushy mountaintops; that this "new" god Dio-
nysus, whoever he really is, is honoured in their dances,
and that they set the sacred wine-bowls, fill'd, in the
midst of the thiasoi, each slinking off her sep'rate
way to serve males' hot lust in the woods, pre-
tending to be Maenads sacrificing; and so
they place Aphrodite on top of Bacchus.
[tr. Valerie (2005)]

               ... women leaving home
to go to silly Bacchic rituals,
cavorting there in mountain shadows,
with dances honoring some upstart god,
this Dionysus, whoever he may be. Mixing bowls
in the middle of their meetings filled with wine,
they creep off one by one to lonsely spots
to have sex with men, claiming they're Maenads
busy worshipping. But they rank Aphrodite,
goddess of sexual desire, ahead of Bacchus.
[tr. Johnston (2008), l. 272ff]

Women have deserted their homes for these
fraudulent rites -- up in the woods and mountains,
dancing to celebrate some new god --
Dionysus, whoever he is.
Drink is at the bottom of it all.
Huge bowls stand in their midst, I'm told,
brimming with wine, and one by one the women
slip into the shadows to satisfy the lusts of men.
They say they are priestesses, sworn to Bacchus,
but it's clearly Aphrodite they adore.
[tr. Robertson (2014)]

     Women have forsaken their homes. It’s a front, it’s a fake, a false Bacchic rite, an excuse for them to cavort in the mountain’s shade, dancing to honor this "new god" Dionysus.
     Whoever that is. Whoever he really is.
     I hear they’ve got casks of wine up there, full to the brim, just sitting there in the midst of their frolicking. And that they sneak off into secluded corners, servicing men, excusing it as a sacred thing, a Maenad’s ritual.
     If it is a ritual, it’s to Aphrodite, not this Bacchus of theirs.
[tr. Pauly (2019)]

How our women
had run off
to celebrate
perferse rites
     in the mountains,
roaming about with this
brand new god, Dionysus --
     whoever he is.
Everywhere
     in the midst of their revels
          stand full wine bowls.
And women slink off
one by one
to copulate
with any man
     who happens by.
They pretend to be Maenads, priestesses.
It's Aphrodite,
not Bacchus,
     they worship.
[tr. Behr/Foster (2019)]

Our women have left our homes in contrived Bacchic rites, and rush about in the shadowy mountains, honoring with khoroi this new daimōn Dionysus, whoever he is. I hear that mixing-bowls stand full in the midst of their assemblies, and that each woman, flying to secrecy in different directions, yields to the embraces of men, on the pretext that they are Maenads worshipping. They consider Aphrodite of greater priority than Dionysus.
[tr. Buckley/Sens/Nagy (2020)]