Prometheus.
That it is better for thee not to know.
Io.
Oh hide not from me what I have to suffer!
Prometheus.
Poor child! Poor child! I do not grudge the gift.
Io.
Why, then, art thou so slow to tell me all?
Prometheus.
It is not from unkindness; but I fear
'Twill break thy heart.
Io.
Take thou no thought for me
Where thinking thwarteth heart's desire!
Prometheus.
So keen
To know thy sorrows! List! and thou shalt learn.
Chorus.
Not till thou hast indulged a wish of mine.
First let us hear the story of her grief
And she herself shall tell the woeful tale.
After, thy wisdom shall impart to her
The conflict yet to come.
Prometheus.
So be it, then.
And, Io, thus much courtesy thou owest
These maidens, being thine own father's kin.
For with a moving story of our woes
To win a tear from weeping auditors
In nought demeans the teller.
