In childbirth grief begins.

Mortal fate is hard. You'd best get used to it.

You don't know what your life is, nor what you're doing, nor who you are.

Receive the god into your kingdom
pour libations, cover your head with ivy, join the dance!

Of all creatures that can feel and think,
we women are the worst treated things alive

Soon all of you immortals
Will be as dead as we are!
Come on then, what are you waiting for?
Have you run out of thunderbolts?