MEDEA.  O, say no word against the golden days
             Of youth, when heads are hot, but hearts are pure! 
             O, if thou wert but now what once thou wast,
             Then were I happier far!  Come back with me
             Only a little step to that fair time
             When, in our fresh, green youth, we strayed together
             By Phasis’ flowery marge.  How frank and clear
             Thy heart was then, and mine how closely sealed
             And sad!  But thou with thy soft, gentle light
             Didst pierce my darkness, drive away the clouds,
             And make me bright and happy.  Thine I was,
             And thou wert mine; O, Jason, is it then
             Vanished forever, that far, happy time? 
             Or hath the bitter struggle for a hearth
             And home, for name and fame, forever killed
             The blooms of fairest promise on the tree
             Of thy green youth?  Oh, compassed though I be
             With woe and heavy sorrows all about,
             Yet I think often on that springtime sweet
             Whence soft and balmy breezes o’er the years
             Are wafted to me!  If Medea then
             Seemed fair to thee and lovely, how today
             Can she be dread and hateful?  What I was
             Thou knewest, and didst seek me none the less. 
             Thou took’st me as I was; O, keep me, as I am!

JASON.  Thou hast forgot the dreadful deeds that since
             Have come to pass.

MEDEA.  Ay, dread they are, in sooth,
             And I confess it!  ’Gainst mine aged sire
             I sinned most deeply, ’gainst my brother, too,
             And none condemns me more than I myself. 
             I’ll welcome punishment, and I’ll repent
             In joy and gladness; only thou shalt not
             Pronounce the doom upon me, nay, not thou! 
             For all my deeds were done for love of thee.—­
             Come, let us flee together, once again
             Made one in heart and soul!  Some distant land
             Will take us to its bosom.

JASON.  What land, then? 
             And whither should we flee?

MEDEA.  Whither!

JASON.  Thou’rt mad,
             And dost revile me, that I do not choose
             To share thy raving!  No!  Our life together
             Is done!  The gods have cursed our union long,
             As one with deeds of cruelty begun,
             That since hath waged and found its nourishment
             In horrid crimes.  E’en granting thou didst not
             Thyself slay Pelias, who was there to see? 
             Or who would trust thy tale?

MEDEA.  Thou!