Comest spectator? Wherefore hast thou dared,
Leaving the tides that bear thy name, the caves
Rock-roof'd and self-create, to visit earth,
The mother of this iron? Didst thou come
To look upon my griefs, and grieve withal?
Behold a spectacle!—me, friend of Jove—
Me, the creator of his royalty—
Beneath what torture from his hand I bow!
⁠Ocea. Prometheus, I behold, and fain would lend
Thine ear my chiefest counselling, albeit
Thou hast a subtle mind. Know thine own self,
And change thy ways, since heav'n hath changed her king;
For if thou thus eject stern arrowy words,
Though far above thee the Saturnian throne,
Jove may attend, and all his present wrath
Beseem a very sport at chastisement.
Unhappy god! what ire thou hast, expel,
And seek an egress from these circling pangs.