JASON.  Nay, touch me not!  Begone from me, thou curse
             Of all my days, who hast robbed me of my life
             And happiness, from whom, when first mine eyes
             Met thine, I shrank and shuddered, though I thought
             Those fearful struggles in my very soul
             Were but the signs of rash and foolish love. 
             Hence, to that wilderness that cradled thee! 
             Back to that bloody folk whose child thou art
             In very thought and deed!  But, ere thou go,
             Give back to me what thou hast stol’n away,
             Thou wanton!  Give Prince Jason back to me!

MEDEA.  Is’t Jason thou desirest?  Take him, then! 
             But who shall give Medea back to me? 
             Was’t I that in thy homeland sought thee out? 
             Was’t I that lured thee from thy father’s house? 
             Was’t I that forced, ay, forced my love on thee? 
             Was’t I that wrenched thee from thy fatherland,
             Made thee the butt of strangers’ haughty scorn,
             Or dragged thee into wantonness and crime? 
             Thou nam’st me Wanton?—­Woe is me!  I am! 
             Yet—­how have I been wanton, and for whom? 
             Let these pursue me with their venomous hate,
             Ay, drive me forth and slay me!  ’Tis their right,
             Because I am in truth a dreadful thing
             And hateful unto them, and to myself
             A deep abyss of evil, terrible! 
             Let all the world heap curses on my head,
             Save only thee alone!  Nay, thou shalt not! 
             ’Twas thou inspiredst all these horrid deeds,
             Yea, thou alone.  Dost thou not call to mind
             How I did clasp my hands about thy knees
             That day thou bad’st me steal the Golden Fleece? 
             And, though I sooner far had slain myself,
             Yet thou, with chilly scorn, commandedst me
             To take it.  Dost remember how I held
             My brother in my bosom, faint to death
             From that fierce stroke of thine that laid him low,
             Until he tore him from his sister’s arms
             To ’scape thy frenzied vengeance, and leaped swift
             Into the sea, to find a kinder death
             Beneath its waves?  Dost thou remember?—­Nay,
             Come here to me, and shrink not so away
             To shelter thee behind that maiden there!

JASON (coming forward).

I hate thee,—­but I fear thee not!

MEDEA.  Then come!

[She addresses him earnestly in low tones.]