Chorus.
Wretch! of what rock is thy breast?—of what steel is the heart of thee moulded,
That the babes thou hast born, with the selfsame hands that with love have enfolded 1280
These, thou hast set thee to slay?
Of one have I heard that laid hands on her loved ones of old, one only,
Even Ino distraught of the Gods, when Zeus' bride drave her, lonely
And lost, from her home to stray:
And she fell—ah wretch!—on the brink as she stood
Of the sea-scaur: guilt of her children's blood
Dragged downwards her feet to the salt sea-flood,
And she died with her children twain.
What ghastlier horror remains to be wrought?
O bride-bed of women, with anguish fraught, 1290
What scathe upon mortals ere now hast thou brought,
What manifold bane!
Enter Jason.
Jason.
Women, which stand anear unto this roof—
Is she within the halls, she who hath wrought
Dread deeds, Medea, or in flight passed thence? 1295
For either must she hide her neath the earth,
Or lift on wings her frame to heaven's far depths,
Or taste the vengeance of a royal house.
How, trusts she, having murdered the land's lords,
Scatheless herself from these halls forth to flee? 1300
