O king, whose home is that olive-clad hill! Theseus Why this piteous prelude in addressing me? Amphitryon The gods have afflicted us with grievous suffering. Theseus Whose are these children, over whom you weep? Amphitryon My own son’s children, woe is him! he was their father and butcher both, hardening his heart to the bloody deed. Theseus Hush! good words only! Amphitryon I would I could obey! Theseus What dreadful words! Amphitryon Fortune has spread her wings, and we are ruined, ruined. Theseus What do you mean? what has he done? Amphitryon Slain them in a wild fit of frenzy