O land of Kadmos, Theban people all,
Shear off your locks, lament one wide lament,
Go to my children's grave and, in one strain,
Lament the whole of us—my dead and me—
Since all together are foredone and lost,
Smitten by Herd's single stroke of fate!
Thes. Rise up now from thy dead ones! Tears enough,
Poor friend!
Her. I cannot: for my limbs are fixed.
Thes. Ay: even these strong men fate overthrows!