Jason.
What is this thing that you would know of me?
Medea.
O I have heard strange rumours—horrible!
Jason.
Oft lies the horror of a tale in the ear
Of him that hears it. What is ’t you have heard?
Medea.
Almost, for fear, I dare not give it tongue.
But tell me this? Love, you have not forgot
The long years passed in this Corinthian home?
The great love I have borne you through the years?
Nor that far time when, in your mighty craft,
You came, a stranger, to the Colchian shore?
O strong you were; but not of such a strength
To have escaped the doom of horrid death,
Had not I, counting neither loss nor gain,
Shown you the way to triumph and renown.
Jason.
And better had I then, a thousand times,
Have fought with my good sword and fall’n or stood
As the high Fates directed; than been caught
In the close meshes of the magic web
Wrought by your hand, dark-thoughted sorceress.