Begone, but quick your homeward way retrace,
That I may fold you in a last embrace.
[Exeunt sons toward the palace, Medea in the opposite direction.]
Chorus: Where hastes this Bacchic fury now,
All passion-swept? what evil deed850
Does her unbridled rage prepare?
Her features are congealed with rage,
And with a queenly bearing, grand
But terrible, she sets herself855