Wherefore thus brooding, Zeus? wherefore apart, And palely pacing, as Earth’s sages use? Let me thy counsel know, thy cares partake; And find thy comfort in a faithful fool.
Cronides, lord of lords, and all our sire, I clasp thy knees; grant thou what I require; A boon the lightning-eyed Tritonia asks: Speak, rend the veil thy secret thought that masks; Reveal what care thy mind within thee gnaws, Blanches thy cheek, and this deep moaning draws,
Speech hath no utterance of surpassing fear, Tragedy holds no misery or woe, But our divinest essence soon shall taste.
Alas, how dire a prelude to thy tale!
A truce to your passion, Zeus. We have not these good people’s gift for farce or recitation; we have not swallowed Euripides whole, and cannot play up to you.