Begone, sorry prophet, witless one; on thee neither Cypris nor the gentle Loves breathe in their kindness." (ll.

938-946) She spake chiding, and Mopsus smiled to hear the god-sent voice of the bird, and thus addressed them: "Do thou, son of Aeson, pass on to the temple, where thou wilt find the maiden; and very kind will her greeting be to thee through the prompting of Cypris, who will be thy helpmate in the contest, even as Phineus, Agenor's son, foretold.

But we two, Argus and I, will await thy return, apart in this very spot; do thou all alone be a suppliant and win her over with prudent words." (ll.

947-974) He spake wisely, and both at once gave approval.

Nor was Medea's heart turned to other thoughts, for all her singing, and never a song that she essayed pleased her long in her sport.