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Prometheus bound   

To be thy teacher: save thyself the way
Thou knowest and I will fortify my heart
Until the wrathfulness of Zeus abate.
Nay then, Prometheus, art thou ignorant
Words are physicians to a wrath-sick soul?
Yes, if with skill one soften the ripe core,
Not by rough measures make it obdurate.
Seest thou in warm affection detriment
Or aught untoward in adventuring?
A load of toil and a light mind withal.

Then give me leave to call that sickness mine.
Wise men accounted fools attain their ends.
But how if I am galled by thine offence?

There very palpably thou thrustest home.

Beware lest thou through pity come to broils.

With one established in Omnipotence?
Of him take heed lest thou find heaviness.

I am schooled by thy calamity, Prometheus!

Pack then! And, prithee, do not change thy mind!

Thou criest "On" to one in haste to go.
For look, my dragon with impatient wings
Flaps at the broad, smooth road of level air.
Fain would he kneel him down in his own stall.
Exit OCEANUS. CHORUS after alighting
I mourn for thee, Prometheus, minished and brought low,
Watering my virgin cheeks with these sad drops, that flow
From sorrow's rainy fount, to fill soft-lidded eyes
With pure libations for thy fortune's obsequies.
An evil portion that none coveteth hath Zeus
Prepared for thee; by self-made laws established for his use
Disposing all, the elder Gods he purposeth to show
How strong is that right arm wherewith he smites a foe.
There hath gone up a cry from earth, a groaning for the fall
Of things of old renown and shapes majestical,
And for thy passing an exceeding bitter groan;
For thee and for thy brother Gods whose honour was thine own:
These things all they who dwell in Asia's holy seat,
Time's minions, mourn and with their groans thy groans repeat.
Yea, and they mourn who dwell beside the Colchian shore,
The hero maids unwedded that delight in war,
And Scythia's swarming myriads who their dwelling make
Around the borders of the world, the salt Maeotian lake.
Mourns Ares' stock, that flowers in desert Araby,
And the strong city mourns, the hill-fort planted high,

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