Creon: Begone, thou silly woman, and free me from my toil.
Medea: The toil is mine, no lack of it.
Creon: Soon wilt thou be thrust out forcibly by the hand of servants.
Medea: Not that, not that, I do entreat thee, Creon
Creon: Thou wilt cause disturbance yet, it seems.
Medea: I will begone; I ask thee not this boon to grant.
Creon: Why then this violence? why dost thou not depart?
Medea: Suffer me to abide this single day and devise some plan for
the manner of my exile, and means of living for my children, since
their father cares not to provide his babes therewith. Then pity them;
thou too hast children of thine own; thou needs must have a kindly
heart. For my own lot I care naught, though I an exile am, but for
those babes I weep, that they should learn what sorrow means.
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