48

deserving none of it, but shackled by ruthless discipline, I
form a sight that slanders Zeus.

Chorus: A soul of iron and wrought of stone, Prometheus,
is he unmoved by your misery; I behold what I would never
see, and my heart is wrung.

Prometheus: To my friends I am rueful to look upon.
Chorus: Did your offense extend no further?
Prometheus: I stopped men foreseeing their doom of death.
Chorus What remedy did you find for that ill?
Prometheus: I caused blind hope to dwell in their breasts.
Chorus: A heavy balm you gave to mortals.
Prometheus: Furthermore, I carried fire to them.
Chorus: Now things of an hour have flame-eyed fire?
Prometheus: From which they will learn many crafts and
skills. So Zeus, upon these charges, shackles me to the rock
and slackens no torture.

Chorus: What goal marks your struggle’s end?
Prometheus: Until Zeus thinks it fitting to end, my toil is
a never-ending term.

Chorus: How shall it be fitting, what hope is there? Do
you not see that you have erred? To speak of your manner
of crime affords no pleasure to me—it is bitter to you—and
this discourse is idle talk, for you must win your freedom yet.
Prometheus: Those whose feet walk free from toil admonish
and advise with ease him emmeshed in misery. I foresaw all
my deed portended. Now I shall not deny that willingly, yes
willingly, I erred; I helped men and harvested a plenitude of
trouble. But I did not know my punishment would shrivel
me away on cliffs, dangling in mid-air, my portion fixed as
this drear and solitary crag; yet mourn no longer for my pres-

ent pressing sorrow, but step to the ground and listen to