If I must flee again, 250 Oh, let some nook remote within thy broad domain Be found for me! _Creon:_ That I my power in mercy wield, And spurn not those who seek my aid let Jason's self My witness be, who, exiled, overwhelmed by fate, 255 And smitten sore with fear, a refuge found with me. For Io, Thessalia's monarch, bent on vengeance dire, Seeks Jason at my hand. The cause, indeed, is just: For that his sire, o'erburdened with the weight of years, Was foully taken off, while by thy wicked guile 260 His guileless sisters' hands were nerved to do the deed. If now our Jason can unlink his cause from thine, 'Tis easy his defense to make, for on his hands No stain of blood is found. His arm no sword upraised, And he has had no part nor lot in this thy crime. 265 No, thou and thou alone the arch contriver art, Uniting in thy person woman's fertile wit And man's effective strength; while in thy reckless heart No thought of reputation dwells to check thy hand. Then go thou hence and purge our kingdom of its stain; Bear hence thy deadly poisons; free the citizens 270 From fear; abiding in some other land than this, Outwear the patience of the gods. _Medea:_ Thou bid'st me flee? Then give me back my bark wherein to flee. Restore The partner of my flight! Why should I flee alone? I came not thus. Or if avenging war thou fear'st, Then banish both the culprits; why distinguish me 275 From Jason? 'Twas for him old Pelias was o'ercome; For him the flight, the plunder of my father's realm, My sire forsaken and my infant brother slain, And all the guilt that love suggests; 'twas all for him. Deep dyed in sin am I, but on my guilty soul 280 The sin of profit lieth not. _Creon:_ Why seek delay By speech? Too long thou tarriest. _Medea:_ I go, but grant This last request: let not the mother's fall o'erwhelm Her hapless babes. _Creon:_ Then go in peace. For I to them A father's place will fill, and take them to my heart. _Medea:_ Now by the fair hopes born upon this wedding day, 285 And by thy hopes of lasting sovereignty secure From changeful fate's assault, I pray thee grant from flight A respite brief, while I upon my children's lips A mother's kiss imprint, perchance the last. _Creon:_ A time Thou seek'st for treachery. 290 _Medea:_ What fraud can be devised In one short hour? _Creon:_ To those on mischief bent, be sure, The briefest time is fraught with mischief's fatal power. _Medea:_ Dost thou refuse me, then, one little space for tears?