GORA (whispering).
Scorn'st thou thy homeland thus—and all for him?
JASON (_catching sight of _GORA).
What! Art thou here, thou ancient beldame? Ha!
I hate thee most of all this Colchian crew.
One glance at thy dim eyes and wrinkled brow,
And lo! before my troubled sight there swims
The dusky shore of Colchis! Why must thou
Be ever hovering close beside my wife?
Begone!
GORA (grumblingly).
Why should I?
JASON. Go!
MEDEA. Begone, I pray.
GORA (_sullenly to _JASON).
Am I thy purchased slave, that thou shouldst speak
So lordly?