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 Oh bed of woman, with all mischief fraught,

What ills hast thou ere now to mortals brought!

Women, ye who thus stand about the house,

Is she within her home who wrought these crimes,

Medea, or hath she gone away in flight?

For now must she or hide beneath the earth

Or lift herself with wings into wide air

Not to pay forfeit to the royal house.

Thinks she, having slain the rulers of this land,

Herself uninjured from this home to fly?

But not of her I reck as of my sons:

Her those she wronged will evilly requite,

But to preserve my children's life I came,

Lest to my hurt the avenging kin on them

Wreak somewhat for their mother's bloody crime.

Oh wretched man! What woes thou comst to, Jason,

Thou knowst not, else hadst thou not said these words.

What is it? Seeks she then to kill me too?