JASON (holding CREUSA back from MEDEA).
Thou art
A child, and canst not know us, what we are!
The hand she feels upon her is the gods',
That reacheth her e'en here, with bloody gripe!
Then strive not thou to balk the gods' just doom.
O, hadst thou seen her in the dragon's cave,
Seen how she leaped to meet that serpent grim,
Shot forth the poisonous arrows of her tongue,
And darted hate and death from blazing eyes,
Then were thy bosom steeled against her tears!—
Take thou the lyre, sing thou to me that song,
And exorcise the hateful demon here
That strangles, chokes me! Thou canst sing the song,
Mayhap, though she cannot.
CREUSA. Ay, that I will.
[She stoops to take up the lyre.]
MEDEA (gripping CREUSA's arm with one hand and holding her back, while with the other she herself picks up the lyre).
Let be!
CREUSA. Right gladly, if thou'lt play.
MEDEA. Not I!
JASON. Thou wilt not give it her?
MEDEA. No!