My sons. E'en that small boon will comfort my sad heart.
And this my latest prayer to thee: if, in my grief,
My tongue was over bold, let not my words remain555
To rankle in thy heart. Remember happier things
Of me and let my bitter words be straight forgot.
Jason: Not one shall linger in my soul; and curb, I pray,
Thy too impetuous heart, and gently yield to fate.
For resignation ever soothes the woeful soul.
[Exit Jason.]
Medea: He's gone! And can it be? And shall he thus depart,560