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What gain to live then? Wherefore have I not

Long since leapt headlong from this iron crag,

That hurtling so to earth, I might have done

With all my labours? Better once to die

Than always every morrow taste fresh pain!

Good sooth, not easily would'st thou support

Such load as mine, whom fate debars from death;—

That were indeed to find deliverance.

Now, as things are, my travail sees proposed

No end, till Zeus be throned in heaven no more.

What! Zeus unthronèd? can that ever be?

Thine eye, meseems, at such calamity

Would lighten.