Am I to be reformed, and made a show
Of infamy to Zeus.
Chorus.
He hath a heart
Of iron, hewn out of unfeeling rock
Is he, Prometheus, whom thy sufferings
Rouse not to wrath. Would I had ne'er beheld them,
For verily the sight hath wrung my heart.
Prometheus.
Yea, to my friends a woeful sight am I.
Chorus.
Hast not more boldly in aught else transgressed?
Prometheus.
I took from man expectancy of death.
Chorus.
What medicine found'st thou for this malady?
Prometheus.
I planted blind hope in the heart of him.
Chorus.
A mighty boon thou gavest there to man.
Prometheus.
Moreover, I conferred the gift of fire.
Chorus.
And have frail mortals now the flame-bright fire?
Prometheus.
Yea, and shall master many arts thereby.
Chorus.
And Zeus with such misfeasance charging thee—
