PROMETHEUS
But there are rascals, you say, among them, and they commit adultery and make war and mar ry their sisters and plot against their fathers. Why, are there not plenty of them among us? Yet, of course, fone could not on this account blame Heaven and Earth for creating us. Again, you may perhaps say that we have to undergo a great deal of annoyance in taking care of them. Well, then, on that principle the herdsman ought to be vexed over having his herd because he has to take care of it. But this toilsome task is also sweet, and, in general, business is not devoid of pleasure, for it affords occupation. Why, what should we do if we had not them to provide for?
Be idle and drink our nectar and eat our ambrosia without doing anything! But what sticks in my throat most is that although you censure me for making men “and particularly the women,” you fall in love with them just the same, and are always going down below, transformed now into bulls, now into satyrs and swans, and you deign to beget gods upon them!
