Strong wits, devisers of great policies,

Do pay the bitterest toll. Since life began,

Hath there in God’s eye stood one happy man?

Fair days roll on, and bear more gifts or less

Of fortune, but to no man happiness.

[Exit MESSENGER.]

CHORUS. [Some Women] Wrath upon wrath, meseems, this day shall fall

From God on Jason! He hath earned it all.

[Other Women] O miserable maiden, all my heart

Is torn for thee, so sudden to depart

From thy king’s chambers and the light above

To darkness, all for sake of Jason’s love!

MEDEA. Women, my mind is clear. I go to slay

My children with all speed, and then, away

From hence; not wait yet longer till they stand

Beneath another and an angrier hand

To die. Yea, howsoe’er I shield them, die

They must. And, seeing that they must, ’tis I

Shall slay them, I their mother, touched of none

Beside. Oh, up, and get thine armour on,

My heart! Why longer tarry we to win

Our crown of dire inevitable sin?

Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine,

Thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn line

Where life turns agony. Let there be naught

Of softness now: and keep thee from that thought,

‘Born of thy flesh,’ ‘thine own belovèd.’ Now,

For one brief day, forget thy children: thou

Shalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yet

Sweet were they… I am sore unfortunate.

[She goes into the house.]

CHORUS. [Some Women] O Earth, our mother; and thou

All-seër, arrowy crown

Of Sunlight, manward now

Look down, Oh, look down!

Look upon one accurst,

Ere yet in blood she twine

Red hands—blood that is thine!

O Sun, save her first!

She is thy daughter still,

Of thine own golden line;

Save her! Or shall man spill

The life divine?

Give peace, O Fire that diest not! Send thy spell

To stay her yet, to lift her afar, afar—

A torture-changèd spirit, a voice of Hell

Wrought of old wrongs and war!

OTHERS. Alas for the mother’s pain

Wasted! Alas the dear

Life that was born in vain!

Woman, what mak’st thou here,

Thou from beyond the Gate

Where dim Symplêgades

Clash in the dark blue seas,

The shores where death doth wait?

Why hast thou taken on thee,

To make us desolate,

This anger of misery

And guilt of hate?

For fierce are the smitings back of blood once shed

Where love hath been: God’s wrath upon them that kill,

And an anguished earth, and the wonder of the dead

Haunting as music still…

[A cry is heard within.]

A WOMAN. Hark! Did ye hear? Heard ye the children’s cry?

ANOTHER. O miserable woman! O abhorred!

A CHILD WITHIN. What shall I do? What is it? Keep me fast

From mother!

THE OTHER CHILD. I know nothing. Brother! Oh,

I think she means to kill us.