O king, whose home is that olive-clad hill!TheseusWhy this piteous prelude in addressing me?

AmphitryonThe gods have afflicted us with grievous suffering.TheseusWhose are these children, over whom you weep?

AmphitryonMy own son’s children, woe is him! he was their father and butcher both, hardening his heart to the bloody deed.TheseusHush! good words only!

AmphitryonI would I could obey!TheseusWhat dreadful words!

AmphitryonFortune has spread her wings, and we are ruined, ruined.TheseusWhat do you mean? what has he done?

AmphitryonSlain them in a wild fit of frenzy