Chorus
There is no means of averting death,
[1230]
there is none for me, the unhappy one. This is now clear, from the libation to Dionysos, the swift viper mingled in death with the drops of the vine. . .
[1235]
the offering to the gods below is clear: misfortune for my life, a death by stoning for my mistress. By what winged flight or under the dark caverns of the earth shall I go,
[1240]
fleeing a death by stoning, stepping on to the swift chariot? or on to the prow of a ship?