Nurse.
Pass in, dear children, for it shall be well.
But thou, keep these apart to the uttermost: 90
Bring them not nigh their mother angry-souled.
For late I saw her glare, as glares a bull
On these, as 'twere for mischief; nor her wrath,
I know, shall cease, until its lightning strike.
To foes may she work ill, and not to friends! 95
Medea (behind the scenes).
O hapless I!—O miseries heaped on mine head!
Ah me! ah me! would God I were dead!
Nurse.
Lo, darlings, the thing that I told you!
Lo the heart of your mother astir!
And astir is her anger: withhold you 100
From her sight, come not nigh unto her.
Haste, get you within: O beware ye
Of the thoughts as a wild-beast brood,
Of the nature too ruthless to spare ye
In its desperate mood.
Pass ye within now, departing
With all speed. It is plain to discern
How a cloud of lamenting, upstarting
From its viewless beginnings, shall burn
In lightnings of fury yet fiercer.
What deeds shall be dared of that soul,
So haughty, when wrong's goads pierce her,
So hard to control? 110
