GORA (observing them from a distance).

Oh, what a task is this
For a proud princess, daughter of a king!

MEDEA.  Nay, if it seem so hard, why dost not help?

GORA.  Lord Jason’s handmaid am I—­and not thine! 
             Nor is it meet one slave another serve.

MEDEA (to the slave).

Now lay it in, and heap the earth upon it.

[The slave lets the chest down into the pit and shovels in the earth upon it.  MEDEA kneels at one side of the pit as he works.]

GORA (standing in the foreground).

Oh, let me die, ye gods of Colchis, now,
That I may look no more on such a sight! 
Yet, first hurl down your lightning-stroke of wrath
Upon this traitor who hath wrought us woe. 
Let me but see him die; then slay me too!

MEDEA (to the slave).

’Tis finished.  Stamp the earth about it close,
And go.—­I charge thee, guard my secret well. 
Thou art a Colchian, and I know thee true.

[The slave departs.]

GORA (calling after him with grim scorn).

If thou shalt tell thy master, woe to you both!

(To MEDEA.)

Hast finished?

MEDEA.  Ay.  At last I am at peace!

GORA.  The Fleece, too, didst thou bury?

MEDEA.  Even the Fleece.

GORA.  Thou didst not leave it in Iolcos, with
             Thine husband’s uncle?

MEDEA.  Nay, thou saw’st it here.

GORA.  Thou hadst it still—­and now hast buried it! 
             Gone, gone!  And naught is left; all thy past life
             Vanished, like wreaths of vapor in the breeze! 
             And naught’s to come, and naught has been, and all
             Thou seest is but this present fleeting hour! 
             There was no Colchis!  All the gods are dead! 
             Thou hadst no father, never slew thy brother I
             Thou think’st not of it; lo, it never happened!—­
             Think, then, thou art not wretched.  Cheat thyself
             To dream Lord Jason loves thee yet.  Perchance
             It may come true!

MEDEA (angrily).

Be silent, woman!

GORA. 
                              Nay! 
             Let her who knows her guilty lock her lips,
             But I will speak.  Forth from my peaceful home
             There in far Colchis, thou hast lured me here,
             To be thine haughty paramour’s meek slave. 
             Freeborn am I, yet see! mine arms are chained!—­
             Through the long, troubled nights, upon my couch
             I lie and weep; each morn, as the bright sun
             Returns, I curse my gray hairs and my weight
             Of years.  All scorn me, flout me.  All I had
             Is gone, save heavy heart and scalding tears.—­
             Nay, I will speak, and thou shalt listen, too!