Am I to be reformed, and made a show
Of iron, hewn out of unfeeling rock
Is he, Prometheus, whom thy sufferings
Rouse not to wrath. Would I had ne'er beheld them,
For verily the sight hath wrung my heart.
Yea, to my friends a woeful sight am I.
Hast not more boldly in aught else transgressed?
I took from man expectancy of death.