Messenger: The lines move slowly, but the leaders haste.
Jocasta [hurrying onward]: What wingéd wind will speed me through the air,420
Bearing me onward with the storm's mad whirl?
What monstrous Sphinx or dark Stymphalian bird,
Whose spreading wings blot out the light of day,
Will bear me on its space-consuming wings?
What Harpy, hovering o'er the royal board
Of that stern Thracian king, will catch me up
Along the lofty highways of the air,425
And cast me headlong 'twixt th' opposing lines?