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Prometheus: It is painful to speak of, yet it pains to be
silent. A bleak and dismal doom engulfs me. When first the
immortal gods were overpowered by anger, they stirred up
strife in one another ; some sought to cast Cronus from majesty
while others promoted the opposite aim, that Zeus never gain
gods’ empiry. I cautioned the Titans—proud race—born of
Uranus and Cthonus—I counseled the sure and wisest tactic,
but they disparaged careful contrivance, vaunted their bod-
ies’ bulk and thought sheer weight could force fair mastery.
More than once my mother Themis, yes, Earth herself, whose
single form is known by titles manifold, Gaia, who many
times foretold me of future things adjudged foredone, that
dominion was to come by guile—she knew the wranglers
over rule would never win the reign of gods by shock of vio-
lence alone. I expounded my mother’s oracle, they listened
not, nor blinked an eye. Therefore the fittest choice appeared
for me to gather my mother near and to station myself a wel-
come volunteer for Zeus’ faction. Because of my advice, the
fuscous, haunted hole of Tartarus covers ancient Cronus with
his allies. I advanced that upstart lord of gods, and he returned
this base reward. Mistrust of friends is a malady ingrained
in tyranny, somehow(-'/But now you seek the origin of the tor-
ture flung upon me; it will show up clear as I speak. So soon
as Zeus was seated firm on the august paternal throne he be-
gan to parcel out the prizes and staked out rules of various
worth with ranks for the different deities. Yet there was no
aid given mortals. He wished them crushed to nothingness
so that he new seed could sow. I alone had courage to stand
between men and their march of utter destruction into Hades’
hall of death, so I writhe, turned by torments painful, pitiful
to look upen! I who raised men high, in my pity, am judged