Prometheus Bound (248-325)

Yes, to my friends indeed I am a spectacle of pity.

Did you perhaps transgress even somewhat beyond this offence?

Yes, I caused mortals to cease foreseeing their doom.[*]

Of what sort was the cure that you found for this affliction?

I caused blind hopes to dwell within their breasts.

A great benefit was this you gave to mortals.

In addition, I gave them fire.

What! Do creatures of a day now have flame-eyed fire?

Yes, and from it they shall learn many arts.

Then it was on a charge like this that Zeus—

Torments me and in no way gives me respite from pain.

And is there no end assigned to your ordeal?

No, none except when it seems good to him.

But how will it seem good to him? What hope is there? Do you not see that you have wronged? And yet it is not pleasant for me to talk about how you have wronged, and for you it is pain. So, let us quit this theme; and may you seek some release from your ordeal.

It is easy for him who keeps his foot free from harm to counsel and admonish him who is in misery. I have known this all the while. Of my own will, yes, of my own will I erred—I will not deny it. By helping mortals I found suffering for myself;

nevertheless I did not think I would be punished in this way—wasting away upon cliffs in mid-air, my portion this desolate and dreary crag. And now, bewail no more my present woes; alight on the ground and listen to my

oncoming fortunes so that you may be told them from end to end. Consent, I beg you, oh consent. Take part in the trouble of him who is now in sore distress. In truth, affliction wanders impartially abroad and alights upon all in turn.

Not to unwilling ears have you made this appeal,

Prometheus. And so now with light foot I will quit my swift-speeding seat and the pure air, the pathway of birds and draw near to this rugged ground; for I want to hear

the whole story of your sorrows.

I have come to the end of a long journey in my passage to you, Prometheus, guiding by my own will, without a bridle, this swift-winged bird.

For your fate, you may be sure, I feel compassion. Kinship, I think, constrains me to this; and, apart from blood ties, there is none to whom I should pay greater respect than to you.

You shall know this for simple truth and that it is not in me to utter vain and empty words; come, tell me; what aid can I render you? For you shall never say that you have a friend more loyal than Oceanus.

Ha! What have we here? So then you too have come to stare upon my sufferings? How did you summon courage to quit the stream that bears your name and the rock-roofed caves you yourself have made and come to this land, the mother of iron? Is it that you have come

to gaze upon my state and join your grief to my distress? Look upon me here—a spectacle, the friend of Zeus, who helped him to establish his sovereign power, by what anguish I am bent by him!

I see, Prometheus; and I want to give you

the best advice, although you yourself are wily. Learn to know yourself and adapt yourself to new ways; for new also is the ruler among the gods. If you hurl forth words so harsh and of such whetted edge, perhaps Zeus may hear you,

though throned far off, high in the heavens, and then your present multitude of sorrows shall seem but childish sport. Oh wretched sufferer! Put away your wrathful mood and try to find release from these miseries. Perhaps this advice may seem to you old and dull;

but your plight, Prometheus, is only the wages of too boastful speech. You still have not learned humility, nor do you bend before misfortune, but would rather add even more miseries to those you have. Therefore take me as your teacher

and do not add insult to injury, seeing that a harsh monarch now rules who is accountable to no one. So now I will depart and see whether I can release you from these sufferings. And may you hold your peace and be not too blustering of speech.