To the main land of Asia. What think ye?
Is not the only ruler of the Gods
A complete tyrant, violent to all,
Respecting none? First, being himself a God,
He burneth to enjoy a mortal maid,
And then torments her with these wanderings,
A sorry suitor for thy love, poor girl,
A bitter wooing. Yet having heard so much
Thou art not even in the overture
And prelude of the song.
Io.
Alas! Oh! Oh!
Prometheus.
Thou dost cry out, fetching again deep groans:
What wilt thou do when thou hast heard in full
The evils yet to come?
Chorus.
And wilt thou tell
The maiden something further: some fresh sorrow?
Prometheus.
A stormy sea of wrong and ruining.
Io.
What does it profit me to live! Oh, why
Do I not throw myself from this rough crag
And in one leap rid me of all my pain?
Better to die at once than live, and all
My days be evil.
Prometheus.
Thou would'st find it hard
To bear what I must bear: for unto me
It is not given to die,—a dear release
