So dread or awful but I would
             Put hand to it!—­
                     He loves these babes,
             Forsooth, because he sees in them
             His own self mirrored back again,
             Himself—­his idol!—­Nay, he ne’er
             Shall have them, shall not!—­Nor will I! 
             I hate them!

GORA.  Come within!  Nay, why
             Wouldst tarry here?

MEDEA.  All empty is that house,
             And all deserted!  Desolation broods
             Upon those silent walls, and all is dead
             Within, save bitter memories and grief!

GORA.  Look!  They are coming who would drive us hence. 
             Come thou within!

MEDEA.  Thou saidst the Argonauts
             Found each and every one a grave unblest,
             The wages of their treachery and sin?

GORA.  Ay, sooth, and such a grave shall Jason find!

MEDEA.  He shall, I promise thee, he shall, indeed! 
             Hylas was swallowed in a watery grave;
             The gloomy King of Shades holds Theseus bound;
             And how was that Greek woman called—­the one
             That on her own blood bloody vengeance took? 
             How was she called, then?  Speak!

GORA.  I do not know
             What thou dost mean.

MEDEA.  Althea was her name!

GORA.  She who did slay her son

MEDEA.  The very same! 
             How came it, then?  Tell me the tale once more.

GORA.  Unwitting, in the chase, he had struck down
             Her brother.

MEDEA.  Him alone?  He did not slay
             Her father, too?  Nor fled his mother’s arms,
             Nor thrust her from him, spurned her scornfully? 
             And yet she struck him dead—­that mighty man,
             Grim Meleager, her own son!  And she—­
             She was a Greek!  Althea was her name. 
             Well, when her son lay dead—?

GORA.  Nay, there the tale
             Doth end.

MEDEA.  Doth end!  Thou’rt right, for death ends all!

GORA.  Why stand we here and talk?

MEDEA.  Dost think that I
             Lack courage for the venture?  Hark!  I swear
             By the high gods, if he had giv’n me both
             My babes—­But no!  If I could take them hence
             To journey with me, at his own behest,

If I could love them still, as deep as now
I hate them, if in all this lone, wide world
One single thing were left me that was not
Poisoned, or brought in ruin on my head—­
Perchance I might go forth e’en now in peace
And leave my vengeance in the hands of Heaven. 
But no!  It may not be! 
They name me cruel