What home or what land to receive thee, deliverance from evils to give thee, 360
Wilt thou find for thee now?
How mid surge of despair to o'erwhelm thee in ruin God's hand on thine helm
Hath steered, O Medea, thy prow!
Medea.
'Tis ill done every way; who shall gainsay?
Yet nowise ill in this: deem not so yet. 365
Bridegroom and bride grim conflicts yet await;
Nor troubles light abide these marriage-makers.
Think'st thou that I had cringed to yon man ever,
Except to gain some gain, or work some wile?
Nor word nor touch of hand had I vouchsafed him. 370
But to such height of folly hath he come,
That, when he might forestall mine every plot
By banishment, this day of grace he grants me
To stay, wherein three foes will I lay dead,
The father, and the daughter, and mine husband. 375
And, having for them many paths of death,
Which first to take in hand I know not, friends;
Whether to set the bridal bower aflame,
Or through the heart to thrust the whetted knife,
Through yon halls stealing silent to their couch. 380
Yet one thing bars the way—if I be found
Crossing the threshold of the house and plotting,
Die shall I, and make mirth unto my foes.
Best the straight path, wherein my nature's cunning
Excels, by poisons to destroy them:—yea. 385
Now, grant them dead: what city will receive me,
What host vouchsafe a land of refuge, home
Secure, and from the avenger shield my life?
