_Chor._ Near me he rages now,
· · · · ·
That biped snake,
And like a viper bites me by the foot.
Oh, woe is me! woe! woe!
O mother Earth! O Earth! O mother mine!
Avert that cry of fear,
O Zeus, thou king! O son of mother Earth!
_Her._ If some one yield not, and to yon ship go,
The hand that tears her tunic will not pity.