ANTISTROPHE. IO. My father's name thou know'st, and my descent! Who art thou? god or mortal? Speak! what charm Gives wretch like thee, the certain clue to know My lamentable fate? Aye, and the god-sent plague thou know'st; the sting That spurs me o'er the far-stretched Earth; the goad That mads me sheer, wastes, withers, and consumes, A worn and famished maid, {199} Whipt by the scourge of jealous Hera's wrath! Ah me! ah me! Misery has many shapes, But none like mine. O thou, who named my Argive home, declare What ills await me yet; what end; what hope? If hope there be for Io. CHORUS. I pray thee speak to the weary way-worn maid. PROMETHEUS. I'll tell thee all thy wish, not in enigmas Tangled and dark, but in plain phrase, as friend Should speak to friend. Thou see'st Prometheus, who To mortal men gifted immortal fire. IO. O thou, to man a common blessing given, What crime hath bound thee to this wintry rock? PROMETHEUS. I have but ceased rehearsing all my wrongs. IO. And dost thou then refuse the boon I ask? PROMETHEUS. What boon? ask what thou wilt, and I will answer. IO. Say, then, who bound thee to this ragged cliff? PROMETHEUS. Stern Jove's decree, and harsh Hephaestus' hand. IO. And for what crime? PROMETHEUS. Let what I've said suffice. IO. This, too, I ask--what bound hath fate appointed To my far-wandering toils? PROMETHEUS. This not to know Were better than to learn. IO. Nay, do not hide This thing from me! PROMETHEUS. If 'tis a boon, believe me, I grudge it not. IO. Then why so slow to answer? PROMETHEUS. I would not crush thee with the cruel truth. IO. Fear not; I choose to hear it. PROMETHEUS. Listen then. CHORUS. Nay, hear me rather. With her own mouth this maid Shall first her bygone woes rehearse; next thou What yet remains shalt tell. PROMETHEUS. Even so. [_To_ Io.] Speak thou; They are the sisters of thy father, Io;[n41] And to wail out our griefs, when they who listen Our troubles with a willing tear requite, Is not without its use.