And secret magic here, I’d keep that vow! 
             But no, I dare not fetch them, for I fear
             Lest, shining through the Fleece’s golden blaze,
             Mine eyes should see my father’s ghostly face
             Stare forth at me—­and oh!  I should go mad!

GORA.  What wilt thou do, then?

MEDEA (wearily).

Even let them come
And slay me, if they will!  I can no more! 
Not one step will I stir from where I stand;
My dearest wish is death!  And when he sees
Me lying dead, mayhap he’ll follow me,
Deep-smitten with remorse!

GORA.  The King draws nigh;
             Look to thyself!

MEDEA.  Nay, all my strength is gone,
             What can I do?  If he would trample me
             Beneath his feet—­well, let him have his will!

The KING_ enters._

KING.  Night falls apace, thine hours of grace are fled!

MEDEA.  I know it.

KING.  Art thou ready to go forth?

MEDEA.  Thou tauntest me!  If I were not prepared,
             Must I the less go forth?

KING.  My heart is glad
             To find thee minded so.  ’Twill make thee think
             Less bitterly upon thy sorry fate,
             And for thy children it doth spell great good: 
             For now they may remember who she was
             That bare them.

MEDEA.  May remember?  If they will,
             Thou meanest!

KING.  That they shall, must be my care. 
             I’ll rear them to be mighty heroes both;
             And then—­who knows?—­on some far-distant day
             Their hero-deeds may bring them to the shores. 
             Of Colchis, where they’ll find thee once again,
             Older in years, grown soft and gentle now,
             And with fond love will press thee to their hearts.

MEDEA.  Alas!

KING.  What say’st thou?

MEDEA.  Naught!  I did but think
             On happy days long vanished, and forgot
             All that hath happened since.—­Was this the cause
             That brought thee here, or hast thou aught to say
             Besides?

KING.  Nay, I forgot one other word,
             But I will speak it now.  Thy husband brought
             Much treasure when he fled to Corinth here
             From far Iolcos, when his uncle died.

MEDEA.  There in the house it lies, still guarded safe;
             Go in and take it!

KING.  And that trinket fair
             Of dazzling gold, the Fleece—­the gleaming prize
             The Argo brought—­is that within, as well? 
             Why turnest thou away, and wouldst depart? 
             Give answer!  Is it there?