MEDEA.  A bitter speech.  What is the end?

JASON.  The worst misfortune of mankind is this: 
             Calm and serene and unconcerned to court
             Fate’s heaviest blows, and then, when these have fallen,
             To whine and cringe, bewailing one’s sad lot.—­
             Such folly we will none of, thou and I.
             For now I seek King Creon, to proclaim
             My right as guest-friend, and to clear away
             These clouds of dark distrust that threaten storm.—­
             Meanwhile, take thou the babes and get thee hence
             Without the city walls.  There wait, until—­

MEDEA.  Till when?

JASON.  Until—­Why hidest thou thy face?

MEDEA.  Ah, say no more!  This is that bitter fate
             Whereof my father warned me!  Said he not
             We should torment each other, thou and I? 
             But no!—­My spirit is not broken yet! 
             All that I was, all that I had, is gone,
             Save this:  I am thy wife!  To that I’ll cling
             Even to death.

JASON.  Why twist my kindly words
             To a false meaning that I never dreamed of?

MEDEA.  Prove that I twist thy words!  I’ll thank thee for it. 
             Quick, quick!  The king draws nigh.—­Let thy heart speak!

JASON.  So, wait we here the breaking of the storm.

[GORA comes out of the tent with the two children; MEDEA places herself between the children, and at first waits in the distance, watching anxiously all that passes.  The KING enters with his daughter and attended by youths and maidens who carry the vessels for the sacrifice.]

KING.  Where is this stranger?—­Who he is, my heart,
             By its wild beating, warns me; wanderer,
             And banished from his homeland, nay, mayhap
             E’en guilty of those crimes men charge him with.—­
             Where is the stranger?

JASON.  Here, my lord, bowed low
             Before thee, not a stranger, though estranged. 
             A suppliant I, and come to pray thine aid. 
             Thrust forth from house and home, by all men shunned,
             I fly to thee, my guest-friend, and beseech
             In confidence the shelter of thy roof.

CREUSA.  Ay, it is he!  Look, father, ’tis Prince Jason!

[She takes a step toward him.]

JASON.  Yea, it is I. And is this thou, Creusa,
             Crowned with a yet more gentle, radiant grace,
             But still the same?  O, take me by the hand
             And lead me to thy father, where he stands
             With thoughtful brow, fixing his steady gaze
             Upon my face, and dallies with his doubt
             Whether to greet me kindly.  Is he wroth
             At me, or at my guilt, which all men cry?