(To the children.)
What hath mother done,
To make you flee her sight and run away
To hide in strangers' bosoms?
BOY. Thou dost seek
To steal us both away, and shut us up
Within thy boat again, where we were both
So sick and dizzy. We would rather stay
Here, would we not, my brother?
YOUNGER BOY. Yea!
MEDEA. Thou, too,
Absyrtus? But 'tis better, better so!
Come hither!
BOY. I'm afraid!
MEDEA. Come here, I say!
BOY. Nay, thou wilt hurt me!
MEDEA. Hurt thee? Thou hast done
Naught to deserve it!
Boy. Once thou flung'st me down
Upon the pavement, hard, because I looked
So like my father. But he loves me for it!
I'd rather stay with him, and with that good
And gentle lady!