MEDEA.  Thou know’st him not; I know his inmost soul.—­
             In all the wide world there is none but he,
             And all things else are naught to him but tools
             To shape his deeds.  He harbors no mean thoughts
             Of paltry gain, not he; yet all his thoughts
             Are of himself alone.  He plays a game
             with Fortune—­now his own, and now another’s. 
             If bright Fame beckon, he will slay a man
             And do it gaily.  Will he have a wife? 
             He goes and takes one.  And though hearts should break
             And lives be wasted—­so he have his will,
             What matters it to him?  Oh, he does naught
             That is not right—­but right is what he wants! 
             Thou knowest him not; I’ve probed his inmost soul. 
             And when I think on all that he has wrought,
             Oh, I could see him die, and laugh the while!

CREUSA.  Farewell!

MEDEA.  Thou goest?

CREUSA.  Can I longer stay
             To list such words?—­Ye gods! to hear a wife
             Revile her husband thus!

MEDEA.  She should speak truth,
             And mine is such an one as I have said.

CREUSA.  By Heaven, if I were wedded to a man,
             E’en one so base and vile as thou hast named—­
             ’Though Jason is not so—­and had I babes,
             His gift, each bearing in his little face
             His father’s likeness, oh, I would love them dear,
             Though they should slay me!

MEDEA.  Ay, an easy task
             To set, but hard to do.

CREUSA.  And yet, methinks,
             If easier, ’twere less sweet.—­Have thou thy way
             And say whate’er thou wilt; but I must go. 
             First thou dost charm my heart with noble words
             And seek’st my aid to win his love again;
             But now thou breakest forth in hate and scorn. 
             I have seen many evils among men,
             But worst of all these do I count a heart
             That knows not to forgive.  So, fare thee well! 
             Learn to be better, truer!

MEDEA.  Art thou angry

CREUSA.  Almost.

MEDEA.  Alas, thou wilt not give me up,
             Thou, too?  Thou wilt not leave me?  Be my help,
             My friend, my kind protector!

CREUSA.  Now thou’rt gentle,
             Yet, but a moment since, so full of hate!

MEDEA.  Hate for myself, but only love for him!

CREUSA.  Dost thou love Jason?

MEDEA.  Should I else be here?