GORA. The King draws nigh;
Look to thyself!
MEDEA. Nay, all my strength is gone,
What can I do? If he would trample me
Beneath his feet—well, let him have his will!
_The KING enters._
KING. Night falls apace, thine hours of grace are fled!
MEDEA. I know it.
KING. Art thou ready to go forth?
MEDEA. Thou tauntest me! If I were not prepared,
Must I the less go forth?
KING. My heart is glad
To find thee minded so. 'Twill make thee think
Less bitterly upon thy sorry fate,
And for thy children it doth spell great good:
For now they may remember who she was
That bare them.
MEDEA. May remember? If they will,
Thou meanest!
KING. That they shall, must be my care.
I'll rear them to be mighty heroes both;
And then—who knows?—on some far-distant day
Their hero-deeds may bring them to the shores.
Of Colchis, where they'll find thee once again,
Older in years, grown soft and gentle now,
And with fond love will press thee to their hearts.