Prometheus. All thou wouldst learn, I will make clear to thee—
No riddle upon my lips, but such straight words,
As friends should use to each other when they talk.
Thou seest Prometheus, who gave mortals fire.
Io. O common Help of all men, known of all,
O miserable Prometheus,—for what cause
Dost thou endure thus?
Prometheus. I have done with wail
For my own griefs—but lately—
Io. Wilt thou not
Vouchsafe this boon to me?
Prometheus. Say which thou wilt,
For I vouchsafe all.
Io. Speak then, and reveal
Who shut thee in this chasm.
Prometheus. The will of Zeus,
The hand of his Hephæstus.
Io. And what crime,
Dost expiate so?
Prometheus. I have told enough for thee,
In so much only.
Io. Nay—but show besides
The limit of my wandering, and the time
Which yet is lacking to fulfill my grief.
Prometheus. Why, not to know were better than to know,
For such as thou.
Io. Beseech thee, blind me not
To that which I must suffer.
Prometheus. If I do
The cause is not because I grudge the boon.
Io. What is the cause, then, mars thy speaking out?
