Ch Monologue from Prometheus Bound

From Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus

any · anguished · 50 sec

Alas! alas! O ye fatal Furies, proudly triumphant, and destructive to this race, ye that have ruined the family of OEdipus from its root. What will become of me? What shall I do? What can I devise? How shall I have the heart neither to bewail thee nor to escort thee to the tomb? But I dread and shrink from the terror of the citizens. Thou, at all events, shalt in sooth have many mourners; but he, wretched one, departs unsighed for, having the solitary-wailing dirge of his sister. Who will agree to this?

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