Yet, though to act the butchery betray’d, They could not bear to see the wounds they made; With looks averted, backward they advance, Then strike and stab, and leave the blows to chance.

Waking in consternation, he essays (Welt’ring in blood) his feeble arms to raise, Environ’d with so many swords. “From whence This barb’rous usage? what is my offence? What fatal fury, what infernal charm, ’Gainst a kind father does his daughters arm?”

Hearing his voice, as thunderstruck, they stopp’d, Their resolution and their weapons dropp’d; Medea then the mortal blow bestows, And, that perform’d, the tragic scene to close, His corpse into the boiling cauldron throws.