To utter desolation; and the whirling fire
To far-off Malea's crags shall send its lurid glare.150
Nurse: Be silent now, I pray thee, and thy plaints confine
To secret woe! The man who heavy blows can bear
In silence, biding still his time with patient soul,
Full oft his vengeance gains. 'Tis hidden wrath that harms;
But hate proclaimed oft loses half its power to harm.
Medea: But small the grief is that can counsel take and hide
Its head; great ills lie not in hiding, but must rush155
Abroad and work their will.