No home of a father hast thou 440
For thine haven when trouble-storms lower.
Usurped is thy bridal bower
Of another, in pride of her power,
Ill-starred, overqueening thee now.
Enter Jason.
Jason.
Not now first, nay, but ofttimes have I marked
What desperate mischief is a froward spirit.
For in this land, this home, when thou might'st stay
Bearing unfractiously thy rulers' pleasure,
Banished thou art for wild and whirling words. 450
Me they vex not—cease never, an thou wilt,
Clamouring, "Jason is of men most base!"
But, for thy words against thy rulers spoken,
Count it all gain—mere exile punishing thee.
For me—still strove I to appease the wrath 455
Of kings incensed: fain would I thou shouldst stay.
But thou rein'st not thy folly, speaking still
Evil of dignities; art therefore banished.
Yet, for all this, not wearied of my friends,
With so much forethought come I for thee, lady, 460
That, banished with thy babes, thou lack not gold,
Nor aught beside. Full many an ill is brought
In exile's train. Yea, though thou hatest me,
Ne'er can I harbour evil thought of thee.
Medea.
Caitiff of caitiffs!—blackest of reproaches 465
My tongue for thine unmanliness can frame—
Thou com'st to me—thou com'st, most hateful proved
To heaven, to me, to all the race of men!
