Since thou has bared thy fell intent to us I, loving thee, and helping in their need Man's laws, adjure thee, dream not of this deed! MEDEA. There is no other way.--I pardon thee Thy littleness, who art not wronged like me. LEADER. Thou canst not kill the fruit thy body bore! MEDEA. Yes: if the man I hate be pained the more. LEADER. And thou made miserable, most miserable? MEDEA. Oh, let it come! All words of good or ill Are wasted now. [_She claps her hands: the_ NURSE _comes out from the house_. Ho, woman; get thee gone And lead lord Jason hither. . . . There is none Like thee, to work me these high services. But speak no word of what my purpose is, As thou art faithful, thou, and bold to try All succours, and a woman even as I! [_The_ NURSE _departs_. * * * * * CHORUS. The sons of Erechtheus, the olden, Whom high gods planted of yore In an old land of heaven upholden, A proud land untrodden of war: They are hungered, and, lo, their desire With wisdom is fed as with meat: In their skies is a shining of fire, A joy in the fall of their feet: And thither, with manifold dowers, From the North, from the hills, from the morn, The Muses did gather their powers, That a child of the Nine should be born; And Harmony, sown as the flowers, Grew gold in the acres of corn. And Cephîsus, the fair-flowing river-- The Cyprian dipping her hand Hath drawn of his dew, and the shiver Of her touch is as joy in the land. For her breathing in fragrance is written, And in music her path as she goes, And the cloud of her hair, it is litten With stars of the wind-woven rose. So fareth she ever and ever, And forth of her bosom is blown, As dews on the winds of the river, An hunger of passions unknown. Strong Loves of all godlike endeavour, Whom Wisdom shall throne on her throne. _Some Women._ But Cephîsus the fair-flowing, Will he bear thee on his shore? Shall the land that succours all, succour thee, Who art foul among thy kind, With the tears of children blind? Dost thou see the red gash growing, Thine own burden dost thou see? Every side, Every way, Lo, we kneel to thee and pray: By thy knees, by thy soul, O woman wild! One at least thou canst not slay, Not thy child! _Others._