CREUSA.  Didst doubt him, father?  Nay, I never did! 
             My heart told me these tales were never true,
             These hideous stories that men tell of him. 
             Gentle he was, and kind; how could he, then,
             Show him so base and cruel?  Couldst thou know
             How they have slandered thee, heaped curse on curse! 
             I’ve wept, to think our fellow-men could be
             So bitter, false.  For thou hadst scarce set sail,
             When, sudden, all men’s talk throughout the land
             Was of wild deeds and hideous midnight crimes—­
             The fruit of witchcraft on far Colchis’ shores—­
             Which thou hadst done.—­And, last, a woman, dark
             And dreadful, so they said, thou took’st to wife,
             Brewer of poisons, slayer of her sire. 
             What was her name?  It had a barbarous sound—­

MEDEA (stepping forward with the children).

Medea!  Here am I.

KING.  Is ’t she?

JASON (dully).

It is.

CREUSA (pressing close to her father).

O, horror!

MEDEA (to CREUSA).

Thou’rt wrong.  I never slew my sire. 
My brother died, ’tis true; but ask my lord
If ’twas my doing.

[She points to JASON.]

True it is, fair maid,
That I am skilled to mix such magic potions
As shall bring death or healing, as I will. 
And many a secret else I know.  Yet, see! 
I am no monster, no, nor murderess.

CREUSA.  Oh, dreadful, horrible.

KING.  And is she thy—­wife?

JASON.  My wife.

KING.  Those children there?

JASON.  They are mine own.

KING.  Unhappy man!

JASON.  Yea, sooth!—­Come, children, bring
             Those green boughs in your hands, and reach them out
             To our lord the King, and pray him for his help,

[He leads them up by the hand.]

Behold, my lord, these babes.  Thou canst not spurn them!

ONE CHILD (holding out a bough timidly to the KING).

See, here it is.

KING (laying his hands gently on the children’s heads).

Poor tiny birdlings, snatched from out your nest!

CREUSA (kneeling compassionately beside the children).

Come here to me, poor, homeless, little orphans! 
So young, and yet misfortune bows you down
So soon!  So young, and oh! so innocent!—­
And look, how this one has his father’s mien!

[She kisses the smaller boy.]

Stay here with me.  I’ll be your mother, sister.

MEDEA (with sudden fierceness).

They are not orphans, do not need thy tears
Of pity!  For Prince Jason is their father;
And while Medea lives, they have no need
To seek a mother!