Death frees from woe: but I before me see
In all my far
prevision
not a bound
To all I suffer, ere that Zeus shall fall
From being a king.
Elizabeth Browning
_Io._ Ah, ah!
_Prometheus._ Is 't thy turn, now, to shriek and moan?
How wilt thou, when thou hast hearkened what remains?
_Chorus._ Besides the grief thou hast told can aught remain?
_Prometheus._ A sea--of foredoomed evil worked to storm.
_Io._ What boots my life, then? why not cast myself
Down headlong from this miserable rock,
That, dashed against the flats, I may redeem
My soul from sorrow? Better once to die
Than day by day to suffer.
_Prometheus._ Verily,
It would be hard for thee to bear my woe
For whom it is appointed not to die.
Death frees from woe: but I before me see
In all my far
prevision
not a bound
To all I suffer, ere that Zeus shall fall
From being a king.
_Io._ And can it ever be
That Zeus shall fall from empire?
_Prometheus._ _Thou_, methinks,
Wouldst take some joy to see it.
_Io._ Could I choose?
_I_ who endure such pangs now, by that god!
_Prometheus._ Learn from me, therefore, that the event shall be.
_Io._ By whom shall his imperial sceptred hand
Be emptied so?
_Prometheus._ Himself shall spoil himself,
Through his idiotic counsels.
