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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?

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