Medea feigns a mortal quarrel bred Betwixt her and the partner of her bed; On this pretence to Pelias’ court she flies, Who languishing with age and sickness lies: His guiltless daughters, with inveigling wiles, And well-dissembled friendship, she beguiles: The strange achievements of her art she tells, With Aeson’s cure, and long on that she dwells, Till them to firm persuasion she has won, The same for their old father may be done: For him they court her to employ her skill, And put upon the cure what price she will. At first she’s mute, and with a grave pretence Of difficulty, holds them in suspense Then promises, and bids them from the fold Choose out a ram, the most infirm and old; That so by facts their doubts may be removed, And first on him the operation proved.