Although the play is confined in time to the final day of catastrophe at Corinth, the background is the whole romantic story of the Argonauts: how Jason and his hero-comrades, at the instigation of Pelias, the usurping king of Thessalian Iolchos, undertook the first voyage in quest of the golden fleece; how after many adventures these first sailors reached the kingdom of Æëtes, who jealously guarded the fleece, since upon its possession depended his own kingship; how the three deadly labors were imposed upon Jason before the fleece could be won; how, smitten by love of him, the beautiful, barbaric Medea, daughter of the king, by the help of her magic, aided Jason in all his labors and accompanied him in his flight; how, to retard her father's pursuit, she slew her brother and scattered his mangled remains in the path as she fled; how again, for love of Jason, she restored his father to youth, and tricked Pelias' own daughters into slaying their aged sire; how, for this act, Medea and her husband were exiled from Thessaly and went and dwelt in Corinth; how, for ten happy years, she lived with her husband and two sons in this alien land, her wild past almost forgotten, her magic untouched. But now Jason has been gradually won away from his wife, and is about to wed Creüsa, the daughter of Creon, king of Corinth. The wedding festivities have already begun, when the play opens and reveals Medea invoking all the powers of heaven and hell in punishment of her false lord. Into her frenzied and dreadful imprecations breaks the sound of sweet voices from without of a chorus of Corinthian women, chanting the epithalamium for the nuptials of Jason and Creüsa. Hearing this cruel song in praise of her rival and of her false husband, Medea goes into a wilder passion of rage. Medea's old nurse tries to soothe her mistress and recall her to her right mind by wise saws and prudent philosophy. But the flood of passion will not be checked. _Nurse._ Be silent now, I pray thee, and thy plaints confine To secret woe. The man who heavy blows can bear In silence, biding still his time with patient soul, Full oft his vengeance gains. 'Tis hidden wrath that harms; But hate proclaimed oft loses half its power to harm. _Medea._ But small the grief is that can counsel take and hide Its head; great ills lie not in hiding, but must rush Abroad and work their will. _Nurse._ O cease this mad complaint, My mistress; scarce can friendly silence help thee now. _Medea._ But Fortune fears the brave, the faint of heart o'erwhelms. _Nurse._ Then valor be approved, if for it still there's room. _Medea._ But it must always be that valor finds its place. _Nurse._ No star of hope points out the way from these our woes. _Medea._ The man who hopes for naught at least has naught to fear.