The collar to endure, the rider bear,
And thus relieve man of his heaviest toils.
First taught the steed, obedient to the rein,
To draw the chariot, wealth's proud appanage.
Nor, before me, did any launch the barque
With its white wings to rove the ocean wave.
These blessings, hapless that I am, have I
Devised for man, and yet device have none
Myself to liberate from these fell bonds.

CHORUS.

Sad is thy lot, to thy unwisdom due.
Now, like a bad physician that himself
Has into sickness fallen, thou dost despair
And hast no medicine for thine own disease.

PROMETHEUS.

Hear what remains, and thou wilt wonder more
At all the feats of my inventive mind.
Greatest of all was this; when they fell sick
Men had no help, no medicine edible,
Potion or ointment, but for lack of cure
Wasted away and perished, till my skill
Taught them to mix the juice of sovran herbs,
With which they now ward off all maladies.
Of divination many ways I traced,
Laid down the rules for telling which of dreams
Would be fulfilled, and of foreboding sounds