Medea.
And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these?
Messenger.
The maiden princess lieth—and her sire,
The king—both murdered by thy poison-fire.
Medea.
Most happy tiding! Which thy name prefers
Henceforth among my friends and well-wishers.
What say'st thou? Woman, is thy mind within
Clear, and not raving? Thou art found in sin
Most bloody wrought against the king's high head,
And laughest at the tale, and hast no dread?
Medea.
I have words also that could answer well
Thy word. But take thine ease, good friend, and tell,
How died they? Hath it been a very foul
Death, prithee? That were comfort to my soul.