Soon has the god changed his good fortune; soon will his children breathe their last, slain by a father’s hand.

AmphitryonAh me! alas!

ChorusO Zeus, unjust Vengeance, mad, relentless, will soon give your childless son up to misery.

AmphitryonAlas, O house!

ChorusThe dance begins without the cymbals’ crash, with no glad waving of the wine-god’s staff—

AmphitryonWoe to these halls!

ChorusToward bloodshed, and not to pour libations of Dionysus’ grape.

AmphitryonO children, make haste to fly!

ChorusThat is the chant of death, of death, to the music of pipes.