Soon has the god changed his good fortune; soon will his children breathe their last, slain by a father’s hand. Amphitryon Ah me! alas! Chorus O Zeus, unjust Vengeance, mad, relentless, will soon give your childless son up to misery. Amphitryon Alas, O house! Chorus The dance begins without the cymbals’ crash, with no glad waving of the wine-god’s staff— Amphitryon Woe to these halls! Chorus Toward bloodshed, and not to pour libations of Dionysus’ grape. Amphitryon O children, make haste to fly! Chorus That is the chant of death, of death, to the music of pipes.