ACTUS QUINTUS
JASON.
But what is this?
A sword? I scorn a sword. I scorn a boy.
Let none suppose me fearful!
MEDEA.
Give not back!
MADNESS,
It will be finer far to go away
As those disdaining aught but their own love.
MEDEA,
Ay! let us leave these folk’s ingratitude;
My husband! in thy love alone I rest.
This splendour and this toil alike resume
Our life from the long honeymoon of love
We wish at heart.
JASON.
To Corinth!
MEDEA.
Creon bears
The name of favourable to suppliants.
ACASTUS.
How virtue tames these tameless ones! To-day
I am indeed a man.
MEDEA.
Thou brainless boy!
Thus, thus, and thus I smite thee on the cheek—
Thus, thus I spit upon thy face. Out, dog!
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