I bewail thee for thy lost fate, Prometheus. A flood of trickling tears from my yielding eyes has bedewed my cheek with its humid gushings; for Jupiter commanding this thine unenviable doom by laws of his own, displays his spear appearing superior o'er the gods of old. And now the whole land echoes with wailing--they wail thy stately and time-graced honors, and those of thy brethren; and all they of mortal race that occupy a dwelling neighboring on hallowed Asia mourn with thy deeply-deplorable sufferings: the virgins that dwell in the land of Colchis too, fearless of the fight, and the Scythian horde who possess the most remote regions of earth around lake Maeotis; and the war-like flower of Arabia, who occupy a fortress on the craggy heights in the neighborhood of Caucasus, a warrior-host, clamoring amid sharply-barbed spears. One other god only, indeed, have I heretofore beheld in miseries, the Titan Atlas, subdued by the galling of adamantine bonds, who evermore in his back is groaning beneath the excessive mighty mass of the pole of heaven. And the billow of the deep roars as it falls in cadence, the depth moans, and the murky vault of Hades rumbles beneath the earth, and the fountains of the pure streaming rivers wail for his piteous pains.

Ch Monologue from Prometheus Bound

Rehearse Ch's monologue