JASON.  I will not.

[He rises from the grass.]

There she kneels—­unhappy fate!—­
Bearing two burdens, hers, and mine as well.

[He paces up and down, then addresses MEDEA.]

There, leave the babes awhile, and come to me.

MEDEA (to the children).

Now go, and be good children.  Go, I say.

[The children go.]

JASON.  Think not, Medea, I am cold and hard. 
             I feel thy grief as deeply as mine own. 
             Thou’rt a brave comrade, and dost toil as truly
             As I to roll away this heavy stone
             That, ever falling backwards, blocks all paths,
             All roads to hope.  And whether thou’rt to blame,
             Or I, it matters not.  What’s done is done.

[He clasps her hands in one of his, and with the other lovingly strokes her brow.]

Thou lov’st me still, I know it well, Medea. 
In thine own way, ’tis true; but yet thou lov’st me. 
And not this fond glance only—­all thy deeds
Tell the same tale of thine unending love.

[MEDEA hides her face on his shoulder.]

I know how many griefs bow this dear head,
How love and pity in thy bosom sit
Enthroned.—­Come, let us counsel now together
How we may ’scape this onward-pressing fate
That threatens us so near.  Here Corinth lies;
Hither, long years agone, a lonely youth,
I wandered, fleeing my uncle’s wrath and hate;
And Creon, king of Corinth, took me in,—­
A guest-friend was he of my father’s house—­
And cherished me ev’n as a well-loved son. 
Full many a year I dwelt here, safe and happy. 
And now—­

MEDEA.  Thou’rt silent!

JASON.  Now, when all the world
             Flouts me, avoids me, now, when each man’s hand
             In blind, unreasoning rage is raised to strike,
             I hope to find a refuge with this king.—­
             One fear I have, though, and no idle one.

MEDEA.  And what is that?

JASON.  Me he will shelter safe—­
             That I hold certain—­and my children, too,
             For they are mine.  But thee—­

MEDEA.  Nay, have no fear. 
             If he take them, as being thine, then me,
             Who am thine as well, he will not cast away.

JASON.  Hast thou forgotten all that lately chanced
             There in my home-land, in my uncle’s house,
             When first I brought thee from dark Colchis’ shores? 
             Hast thou forgot the scorn, the black distrust
             In each Greek visage when it looked on thee,
             A dark barbarian from a stranger-land? 
             They cannot know thee as I do,—­true wife
             And mother of my babes;—­homekeepers they,
             Nor e’er set foot on Colchis’ magic strand
             As I.