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.