A weak and powerless woman! There they lie,
My staff, my veil of crimson! Mine! Ah, mine!

[_She takes them out of the casket._]

I take thee in my hands, thou mighty staff
Of mine own mother, and through heart and limbs
Unfailing strength streams forth from thee to me!
And thee, beloved wimple, on my brow
I bind once more!

[_She veils herself._]

How warm, how soft thou art,
How dost thou pour new life through all my frame!
Now come, come all my foes in close-set ranks,
Banded against me, banded for your doom!

GORA. Look! Yonder flares a light!

MEDEA. Nay, let it flare!
'Twill soon be quenched in blood!--
Here are the presents I would send to her;
And thou shalt be the bearer of my gifts!

GORA. I?

MEDEA. Thou! Go quickly to the chamber where
Creusa sits, speak soft and honied words,
Bring her Medea's greetings, and her gifts!

[_She takes the gifts out of the chest one by one._]

This golden box, first, that doth treasure up
Most precious ointments. Ah, the bride will shine
Like blazing stars, if she will ope its lid!
But bear it heedfully, and shake it not!

GORA. Woe's me!

[_She has grasped the ointment-box firmly in her left hand; as she
steadies it with her right hand, she slightly jars the cover open, and a
blinding flame leaps forth._]

MEDEA. I warned thee not to shake it, fool!
Back to thy house again,
Serpent with forked tongue!
Wait till the knell hath rung;
Thou shalt not wait in vain!
Now clasp it tightly, carry it with heed!

GORA. I fear some dreadful thing will come of this!

MEDEA. So! Thou wouldst warn me? 'Tis a wise old crone!

GORA. And I must bear it?

MEDEA. Yea! Obey, thou slave!
How darest thou presume to answer me?
Be silent! Nay, thou shalt, thou must!
And next
Here on this salver, high-embossed with gold,
I set this jeweled chalice, rich and fair
To see, and o'er it lay the best of all,
The thing her heart most craves--the Golden Fleece!--
Go hence and do thine errand. Nay, bu