[They depart.]
MEDEA. Thou'rt full of thought?
JASON. Ay, full.
MEDEA. Thou givest
Thyself no rest.
JASON. A fugitive—and rest?
There is no rest for such, but only flight.
MEDEA. Last night thou didst not close thine eyes in sleep,
But wand'redst forth in the murky night, alone.
JASON. I love the night; the sunlight hurts my eyes.
MEDEA. And thou hast sent a message to the king.
Will he receive us kindly?
JASON. That I wait
To hear.
MEDEA. He is thy friend?