(To MEDEA.)
Hast finished?
MEDEA. Ay. At last I am at peace!
GORA. The Fleece, too, didst thou bury?
MEDEA. Even the Fleece.
GORA. Thou didst not leave it in Iolcos, with
Thine husband's uncle?
MEDEA. Nay, thou saw'st it here.
GORA. Thou hadst it still—and now hast buried it!
Gone, gone! And naught is left; all thy past life
Vanished, like wreaths of vapor in the breeze!
And naught's to come, and naught has been, and all
Thou seest is but this present fleeting hour!
There was no Colchis! All the gods are dead!
Thou hadst no father, never slew thy brother I
Thou think'st not of it; lo, it never happened!—
Think, then, thou art not wretched. Cheat thyself
To dream Lord Jason loves thee yet. Perchance
It may come true!
MEDEA (angrily).
Be silent, woman!