Medea.
Now what hath happed that calleth for such flight?
Messenger.
Dead is the princess even now, and dead 1125
Kreon her father, by thy poison-drugs.
Medea.
A glorious tale thou tellest: thou henceforth
Art of my benefactors and my friends.
Messenger.
What say'st?—Of sound mind art thou, and not mad,
Who, hearing of the havoc of the hearth 1130
Of kings, art glad, and hast no fear for this?
Medea.
O yea; I too with words of controversy
Could answer thee:—yet be not hasty, friend,
But tell how died they: thou shouldst gladden me
Doubly, if these most horribly have perished. 1135
Messenger.
When, with their father, came thy children twain,
And passed into the halls for marriage decked,
Glad were we thralls who sorrowed for thy woes.
And straightway buzzed from ear to ear the tale
Of truce to old feuds 'twixt thy lord and thee. 1140
The hand one kisseth, one the golden head
Of those thy sons: myself by joy on-drawn
Followed thy children to the women's bowers.
Now she which had our worship in thy stead,
