_Prom._ I thank thee much, yea, ne'er will cease to thank; For thou no whit of zeal dost lack; yet take, I pray, no trouble for me; all in vain Thy trouble, nothing helping, e'en if thou 350 Should'st care to take the trouble. Nay, be still; Keep out of harm's way; sufferer though I be, I would not therefore wish to give my woes A wider range o'er others. No, not so: For lo! my mind is wearied with the grief Of that my kinsman Atlas,[156] who doth stand In the far West, supporting on his shoulders The pillars of the earth and heaven, a burden His arms can ill but hold: I pity too The giant dweller of Kilikian caves, 360 Dread portent, with his hundred hands, subdued By force, the mighty Typhon,[157] who arose 'Gainst all the Gods, with sharp and dreadful jaws Hissing out slaughter, and from out his eyes There flashed the terrible brightness as of one Who would lay low the sovereignty of Zeus. But the unsleeping dart of Zeus came on him, Down-swooping thunderbolt that breathes out flame, Which from his lofty boastings startled him, For he i' the heart was struck, to ashes burnt, 370 His strength all thunder-shattered; and he lies A helpless, powerless carcase, near the strait Of the great sea, fast pressed beneath the roots Of ancient Ætna, where on highest peak Hephæstos sits and smites his iron red-hot, From whence hereafter streams of fire shall burst,[158] Devouring with fierce jaws the golden plains Of fruitful, fair Sikelia. Such the wrath That Typhon shall belch forth with bursts of storm, Hot, breathing fire, and unapproachable, Though burnt and charred by thunderbolts of Zeus. 380 Not inexperienced art thou, nor dost need My teaching: save thyself, as thou know'st how; And I will drink my fortune to the dregs, Till from his wrath the mind of Zeus shall rest.[159] _Okean._ Know'st thou not this, Prometheus, even this, Of wrath's disease wise words the healers are? _Prom._ Yea, could one soothe the troubled heart in time, Nor seek by force to tame the soul's proud flesh. _Okean._ But in due forethought with bold daring blent, What mischief see'st thou lurking? Tell me this. 390 _Prom._ Toil bootless, and simplicity full fond. _Okean._ Let me, I pray, that sickness suffer, since 'Tis best being wise to have not wisdom's show. _Prom._ Nay, but this error shall be deemed as mine. _Okean._ Thy word then clearly sends me home at once. _Prom._ Yea, lest thy pity for me make a foe.... _Okean._ What! of that new king on his mighty throne? _Prom._ Look to it, lest his heart be vexed with thee. _Okean._ Thy fate, Prometheus, teaches me that lesson. _Prom._ Away, withdraw! keep thou the mind thou hast. 400