Sleep-bound art thou. Hast thou no bowels for me?
My Furies sleep, and let my murderer flee.
[The Chorus groans.
Groaning and sleeping! Up! What work hast thou
To do, but thine own work of sorrow? Rouse thee!
[The Chorus groans again.
Sleep and fatigue have sworn a league to bind
The fearful dragon with strong mastery.
Chorus.
(with redoubled groans and shrill cries)
Hold! seize him! seize him! seize there! there! there! hold!