My soul must be prepared for this last crime.
Ye who were once my children, mine no more,
Ye pay the forfeit for your father’s crimes.
Awe strikes my spirit and benumbs my hand;
My heart beats wildly; mother-love drives out
Hate of my husband; shall I shed their blood—
My children’s blood? Demented one, rage not,
Be far from thee this crime! What guilt is theirs?
Is Jason not their father?—guilt enough!
And worse, Medea claims them as her sons.