What suffering awaits me, and what place,
Full well I know. Make room, ye guilty shades;
On me, me only, let that rock be placed,
The everlasting toil of Sisyphus,1230
And let these wearied hands upbear its weight;
Let cooling waters lap and mock my lips;
Let that fell vulture fly from Tityos,
And let my vitals ever living be
For punishment. And thou, Ixion, sire1235
Of my Pirithoüs, take rest awhile,