PROMETHEUS BOUND
Are on the helm, and, master uncontroll'd,
Laws lawless maketh Zeus,
Trampling the ancient use, 150
And clean blots out the great and mighty things of old.
PROMETHEUS
Ah, would that under the earth, down deeper
Than the Dungeon of Souls, the dead man's Keeper,
He had flung me to infinite Tartaros!—yes,
And had made me acquaint in his wrath's excess
With insoluble chains, that joy at the sight of me
No god might get nor any beside!—
I am lift to the sky, and the winds make light of me,
And they that hate me deride!
CHORUS
Bears any god so brute a breast,
As here to find him matter of jest?
Who is, but in thy pain hath part, 160
Save only Zeus? and he hath set his heart
Stubborn in uttermost
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