JASON. The worst misfortune of mankind is this: Calm and serene and unconcerned to court Fate's heaviest blows, and then, when these have fallen, To whine and cringe, bewailing one's sad lot.-- Such folly we will none of, thou and I. For now I seek King Creon, to proclaim My right as guest-friend, and to clear away These clouds of dark distrust that threaten storm.-- Meanwhile, take thou the babes and get thee hence Without the city walls. There wait, until-- MEDEA. Till when? JASON. Until--Why hidest thou thy face? MEDEA. Ah, say no more! This is that bitter fate Whereof my father warned me! Said he not We should torment each other, thou and I? But no!--My spirit is not broken yet! All that I was, all that I had, is gone, Save this: I am thy wife! To that I'll cling Even to death. JASON. Why twist my kindly words To a false meaning that I never dreamed of? MEDEA. Prove that I twist thy words! I'll thank thee for it. Quick, quick! The king draws nigh.--Let thy heart speak! JASON. So, wait we here the breaking of the storm. [GORA _comes out of the tent with the two children_; MEDEA _places herself between the children, and at first waits in the distance, watching anxiously all that passes. The_ KING _enters with his daughter and attended by youths and maidens who carry the vessels for the sacrifice._] KING. Where is this stranger?--Who he is, my heart, By its wild beating, warns me; wanderer, And banished from his homeland, nay, mayhap E'en guilty of those crimes men charge him with.-- Where is the stranger? JASON. Here, my lord, bowed low Before thee, not a stranger, though estranged. A suppliant I, and come to pray thine aid. Thrust forth from house and home, by all men shunned, I fly to thee, my guest-friend, and beseech In confidence the shelter of thy roof. CREUSA. Ay, it is he! Look, father, 'tis Prince Jason! [_She takes a step toward him._] JASON. Yea, it is I. And is this thou, Creusa, Crowned with a yet more gentle, radiant grace, But still the same? O, take me by the hand And lead me to thy father, where he stands With thoughtful brow, fixing his steady gaze Upon my face, and dallies with his doubt Whether to greet me kindly. Is he wroth At me, or at my guilt, which all men cry? CREUSA (_taking_ JASON's _hand and leading him to her father_). See, father, 'tis Prince Jason! KING. He is welcome.