O Zeus, why wand'rest, self-communing, lone,And sicklied o'er with this pale student's hue?Make me the partner of thy sorrow's load,Nor scorn the prattle of a lowly friend.
Yea, sire, great Kronides, our father and highest of rulers,I, the clear-eyed and divine, the Trito-born, clasp thee imploring.Hide not thy grief in thine heart. Tell it forth that thy children may know it.What biting care dost thou hold in thy brain and thy bosom? What anguishWrings that deep groan from thy soul and yellows thy fair, ruddy color?
There no woe that happens, sooth to tell,No pain, no chance-born theme of tragedy,Of which the godhead beareth not the load.
Great heav'n! What prologue doth begin his tale.
O earthy offspring of the earth, fell race,
And thou, Prometheus, what woe hast thou wrought!
What is 't? We are the band of thine own kin.
Thunderbolt, sounding afar, how shall thy hurtling crash save me?
Keep your temper, Zeus, since I cannot
answer you in comedy metre as the others do,
nor have I swallowed Euripides whole so as to
take my part in the drama when you give me the
cue.