GORA. Thou tremblest! What dost think to do?
MEDEA. That I must forth, is sure; what else
May chance ere that, I cannot see.
My heart leaps up, when I recall
The foul injustice I have borne,
And glows with fierce revenge! No deed
So dread or awful but I would
Put hand to it!—
He loves these babes,
Forsooth, because he sees in them
His own self mirrored back again,
Himself—his idol!—Nay, he ne'er
Shall have them, shall not!—Nor will I!
I hate them!
GORA. Come within! Nay, why
Wouldst tarry here?
MEDEA. All empty is that house,
And all deserted! Desolation broods
Upon those silent walls, and all is dead
Within, save bitter memories and grief!
GORA. Look! They are coming who would drive us hence.
Come thou within!
MEDEA. Thou saidst the Argonauts
Found each and every one a grave unblest,
The wages of their treachery and sin?
GORA. Ay, sooth, and such a grave shall Jason find!
MEDEA. He shall, I promise thee, he shall, indeed!
Hylas was swallowed in a watery grave;
The gloomy King of Shades holds Theseus bound;
And how was that Greek woman called—the one
That on her own blood bloody vengeance took?
How was she called, then? Speak!
GORA. I do not know
What thou dost mean.
MEDEA. Althea was her name!