KING. With a wanton, no!
MEDEA (to JASON).
Is it thy will, too?
JASON. Ay!
MEDEA (hastening to the door).
Come forth, my babes!
Your mother calls you!
KING. Back!
MEDEA. 'Tis, then, thy will
That I go forth alone?—'Tis well, so be it!
I say but this, O king: Before the gray
Of evening darken, give me back my babes!
Enough for now!
(Turning to CREUSA.)
But thou, who standest there
In glistering raiment, cloaking thy delight,
In thy false purity disdaining me,
I tell thee, thou wilt wring those soft, white hands
In agony, and envy me my lot,
Hard though it seemeth now!