MEDEA.
75
Kreon.
Ay: more I love not thee than mine own house.
Medea.
O, how I call thee now to mind, my country!
Kreon.
Ay, dear to me is Corinth, next my children.
Medea.
Alas! to mortals what a curse is love! 330
Kreon.
Blessing or curse, I trow, as fortune falls.
Medea.
Zeus, may the cause of this 'scape not thy ken!
Kreon.
Hence, passionate fool, and rid me of my trouble.
Medea.
Troubled am I, nor need I troubles new.
Kreon.
Soon shalt thou be by servants' hands thrust out. 335
Medea.
Nay—nay—not this, O Kreon, I beseech thee!
Kreon.
A coil thou wilt make, woman, as it seems.
