PROMETHEUS BOUND.
37
While undertoned his waxen reed doth keep
A tune engend'ring sleep.
Oh woe! oh woe!
Where are, ye gods, my wand'rings wide directed?
Me, in what crime, thou Jove, what crime, detected,
Yok'st thou to suff'ring, so,
And thus to goading terror dost thou doom me
Wretched and madden'd? Oh, with fire consume me,
Hide me with earth, to beasts my body fling:
Spurn not my prayer, oh king!
Too many wand'rings on my strength have press'd,
Nor know I where I shall attain to rest.
Cho. What saith the horned virgin, hearest thou?15
Pro. How can I hear not the fly-goaded maid,
The child of Inachus, who warm'd with love
Saturnius' breast; and now, by Juno's hate,
Is forced to tread the ever-length'ning ways?
