JASON. Nor to me?
MEDEA. No!
JASON (striding up to her and grasping at the lyre).
I will take it, then!
MEDEA (without moving from her place, but drawing the lyre away from him).
No!
JASON. Give it me!
MEDEA (crushing the lyre, so that it breaks with a loud, cracking sound).
Here, take it! Broken! Thy fair lyre is broken!
[She flings the pieces down in front of CREUSA.]