PROMETHEUS. Your first request I granted, And lightly; from her own mouth, ye have heard The spring of harm, the stream expect from me, How Hera shall draw out her slow revenge. Meanwhile, thou seed of Inachus, lend an ear And learn thy future travel. First to the east[n43] Turn thee, and traverse the unploughed Scythian fields, Whose wandering tribes their wattled homes transport Aloft on well-wheeled wains, themselves well slung With the far-darting bow. These pass, and, holding Thy course by the salt sea's sounding surge, pass through The land; next, on thy left, thou'lt reach the Chalybs, Workers in iron. These too avoid--for they Are savage, and harsh to strangers. Thence proceeding, Thou to a stream shalt come, not falsely named Hubristes: but the fierce ill-forded wave Pass not till Caucasus, hugest hill, receives thee, There where the flood its gushing strength foams forth Fresh from the rocky brow. Cross then the peaks That neighbour with the stars, and thence direct Southward thy path to where the Amazons Dwell, husband-hated, who shall one day people Thermódon's bank, and Themiscyre, and where Harsh Salmydessus whets his ravening jaws, The sailor's foe, stepmother to the ships. These maids shall give thee escort. Next thou'lt reach The narrow Cimmerian isthmus, skirting bleak The waters of Mæotis. Here delay not, But with bold breast cross thou the strait. Thy passage Linked with the storied name of Bosphorus {202} Shall live through endless time. Here, leaving Europe, The Asian soil receives thee. Now, answer me, Daughters of Ocean, doth not Jove in all things Prove his despotic will?--In lawless love Longing to mingle with this mortal maid, He heaps her with these woes. A bitter suitor, Poor maid, was thine, and I have told thee scarce The prelude of thy griefs. IO. Ah! wretched me! PROMETHEUS. Alas, thy cries and groans!--What wilt thou do, When the full measure of thy woes is told thee? CHORUS. What! more? her cup of woes not full? PROMETHEUS. 'Twill flow And overflow, a sea of whelming woes. IO. Why do I live? Why not embrace the gain That, with one cast, this toppling cliff secures, And dash me headlong on the ground, to end Life and life's sorrows? Once to die is better Than thus to drag sick life. PROMETHEUS. Thou'rt happy, Io, That death from all thy living wrongs may free thee; But I, whom Fate hath made immortal, see No end to my long-lingering pains appointed, Till Jove from his usurping sway be hurled. IO. Jove from his tyranny hurled--can such thing be? PROMETHEUS. Doubtless 'twould feast thine eyes to see't? IO. Ay, truly, Wronged as I am by him. PROMETHEUS. Then, learn from me That he is doomed to fall.