Ch monologue — Aeschylus' Prometheus Bound and the Seven Against Thebes

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.[28] 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[29] 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,[30] who occupy a fortress on the craggy heights in the neighborhood of Caucasus, a warrior-host, clamoring amid sharply-barbed spears.