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Ah! hapless mothers, [825] behold this sea of troubles!

Our nails have ploughed our cheeks in furrows, and over our heads have we strewn ashes.

Ah me! ah me! Oh that earth's floor would swallow me, [830] or the whirlwind snatch me away, or Zeus's flaming bolt descend upon my head!

Bitter the marriages you witnessed, bitter the oracle of Phoebus! [835] The curse of Oedipus, full of sorrow, after desolating his house, has come on you.

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