[MEDEA silently removes the veil and gives it to GORA.]

GORA (whispering).

Scorn’st thou thy homeland thus—­and all for him?

JASON (catching sight of GORA).

What!  Art thou here, thou ancient beldame?  Ha! 
I hate thee most of all this Colchian crew. 
One glance at thy dim eyes and wrinkled brow,
And lo! before my troubled sight there swims
The dusky shore of Colchis!  Why must thou
Be ever hovering close beside my wife? 
Begone!

GORA (grumblingly).

Why should I?

JASON.  Go!

MEDEA.  Begone, I pray.

GORA (sullenly to JASON).

Am I thy purchased slave, that thou shouldst speak
So lordly?

JASON.  Go!  My hand, of its own will,
             Is on my sword!  Go, while there yet is time! 
             Often ere this I have thought to make essay
             If that stern brow be softer than it seems!

[MEDEA leads the reluctant GORA away, whispering words of comfort as they go. JASON throws himself on a grass-bank, and strikes his breast.]

JASON.  O, heart of mine, burst from thy prison-house,
             And drink the air!—­
             Ay, there they lie, fair Corinth’s lofty towers,
             Marshalled so richly on the ocean-strand,
             The cradle of my happy, golden youth! 
             Unchanging, gilded by the selfsame sun
             As then.  ’Tis I am altered, and not they. 
             Ye gods!  The morning of my life was bright
             And sunny; wherefore is my eventide
             So dark and gloomy?  Would that it were night!

[MEDEA has brought the two children out of the tent, and now leads them by the hand to JASON.]

MEDEA.  See, Jason, thy two babes, who come to greet thee. 
             Come, children, give your sire your little hands.

[The children draw back, and stand shyly at one side.]

JASON (stretching out his hands yearningly toward the little group.)

Is this the end, then?  Do I find myself
Husband and father of a savage brood?

MEDEA.  Go, children.

ONE CHILD.  Father, is it true thou art
             A Greek?

JASON.  And why?

CHILD.  Old Gora says thou art,
             And calls the Greeks bad names.

JASON.  What names, my boy?

CHILD.  Traitors she says they are, and cowards, too.

JASON (to MEDEA).

Dost hear?

MEDEA.  ’Tis Gora’s foolish tales that they
             Have heard, and treasured, child-like.  Mark them not.

[She kneels beside the two children, whispering in the ear now of one, now of the other.]