A fiercer nature than Tyrrhenian Scylla.
But—for untold revilings would not sting
Thee, in thy nature is such hardihood:— 1345
Avaunt, thou miscreant stained with thy babes' blood!
For me remains to wail my destiny,
Who of my new-wed bride shall have no joy,
And to the sons whom I begat and nurtured
Living I shall not speak—lost, lost to me! 1350
Medea.
I might have lengthened out long controversy
To these thy words, if Father Zeus knew not
How I have dealt with thee and thou with me.
'Twas not for thee to set my couch at nought
And live a life of bliss, bemocking me! 1355
Nor for thy princess, and thy marriage-kinsman,
Kreon, unscathed to banish me this land!
Wherefore a tigress call me, an thou wilt,
Or Scylla, haunter of Tyrrhenian shore;
For thine heart have I wrung, as well behoved. 1360
Jason.
Ha, but thou sorrowest too, thou shar'st mine ills!
Medea.
O yea: yet grief is gain, so thou laugh not.
Jason.
O children mine, what miscreant mother had ye!
Medea.
O sons, destroyed by your own father's lust!
