She cannot sing it.--Other songs are hers, Like that which, with her magic arts, she sang Unto the dragon, that he fell asleep.

That was no pure, sweet strain, like this of thine!

CREUSA (_whispering in _MEDEA's _ear_).

"Ye G.o.ds above, ye mighty G.o.ds--."

MEDEA (_repeating it after her_).

"Ye G.o.ds above--"

O G.o.ds in heaven, O righteous, mighty G.o.ds!

[_She lets the lyre fall to the ground, and clasps both hands before her eyes._]

CREUSA. She weeps! Canst be so stern and hard?

JASON (_holding_ CREUSA _back from_ MEDEA).

Thou art A child, and canst not know us, what we are!

The hand she feels upon her is the G.o.ds', That reacheth her e'en here, with b.l.o.o.d.y gripe!

Then strive not thou to balk the G.o.ds' just doom.

O, hadst thou seen her in the dragon's cave, Seen how she leaped to meet that serpent grim, Shot forth the poisonous arrows of her tongue, And darted hate and death from blazing eyes, Then were thy bosom steeled against her tears!-- Take thou the lyre, sing thou to me that song, And exorcise the hateful demon here That strangles, chokes me! Thou canst sing the song, Mayhap, though she cannot.

CREUSA. Ay, that I will.

[_She stoops to take up the lyre._]

MEDEA (_gripping_ CREUSA's _arm with one hand and holding her back, while with the other she herself picks up the lyre_).

Let be!

CREUSA. Right gladly, if thou'lt play.

MEDEA. Not I!

JASON. Thou wilt not give it her?

MEDEA. No!

JASON. Nor to me?

MEDEA. No!

JASON (_striding up to her and grasping at the lyre_).

I will take it, then!

MEDEA (_without moving from her place, but drawing the lyre away from him_).

No!

JASON. Give it me!

MEDEA (_crushing the lyre, so that it breaks with a loud, cracking sound_).

Here, take it! Broken! Thy fair lyre is broken!

[_She flings the pieces down in front of_ CREUSA.]

CREUSA (_starting back in horror_).

Dead!

MEDEA (_looking swiftly about her as in a daze_).

Dead? Who speaks of death? I am alive!

[_She stands there violently agitated and staring dazedly before her. A trumpet-blast sounds without._]

JASON. Ha, what is that?

(_To_ MEDEA.)

Why standest silent there?

Thou'lt rue this moment, that I know full well!

[_Another trumpet-blast without. The _KING_ appears suddenly at the door._]

JASON (_hurrying to meet him_).

What means that warlike trumpet-blast without?

KING. Unhappy man, canst ask?

JASON. I do, my lord!

KING. The stroke that I so feared is fall'n at last.-- Before my palace gates a herald stands, Sent hither from the Amphictyons' holy seat, Seeking for news of thee and of thy wife, Crying to Heaven the doom of banishment On both!

JASON. This, too?

KING. So is it--. Peace, he comes.

[_The palace doors swing open and a_ HERALD _enters, followed by two trumpeters and, at a little distance, by a numerous suite._]

HERALD. The blessing of the G.o.ds upon this house!

KING (_solemnly_).

Who art thou? On what errand art thou come?