And yet no rest I find: nor when, nor where
These woes shall cease may know.
Chorus.[n40]
Dost hear the plaint of the ox-horned maid?
Prometheus.
How should I not? the Inachian maid who knows not,
Stung by the god-sent brize? the maid who smote
Jove’s lustful heart with love: and his harsh spouse
Hounds her o’er Earth with chase interminable.
ANTISTROPHE.
Io.