(To the slave-woman.)
Away!
And bring her to thy mistress.
[GORA and the slave-woman depart together.]
Well begun,
But not yet ended! Easy is my path,
Now I see clearly what I have to do!
[The children, hand in hand, make as if to follow the slave-woman.]
Where go ye?
BOY. In the house!
MEDEA. What seek ye there?
BOY. Our father told us we should stay with her.
MEDEA. Thy mother bids you tarry. Wait, I say!—
When I bethink me how they are my blood,
My very flesh, the babes I bore so long
In my own womb, and nourished at my breast,
When I bethink me 'tis my very self
That turns against me, in my inmost soul
Fierce anger stabs me knife-like, bloody thoughts
Rise fast within me!—