PROMETHEUS. To tell or not to tell Irks me the same; which way I turn is pain. When first the gods their fatal strife began, And insurrection raged in Heaven--some striving To cast old Kronos from his hoary throne, That Jove might reign, and others to crush i' the bud His swelling mastery--I wise counsel gave To the Titans, sons of primal Heaven and Earth; But gave in vain. Their dauntless stubborn souls Spurned gentle ways, and patient-working wiles, Weening swift triumph with a blow. But me, My mother Themis, not once but oft, and Earth (One shape of various names),[n17] prophetic told {189} That violence and rude strength in such a strife Were vain--craft haply might prevail. This lesson I taught the haughty Titans, but they deigned Scarce with contempt to hear my prudent words. Thus baffled in my plans, I deemed it best, As things then were, leagued with my mother Themis, To accept Jove's proffered friendship. By my counsels From his primeval throne was Kronos[f9] hurled Into the pit Tartarean, dark, profound, With all his troop of friends. Such was the kindness From me received by him who now doth hold The masterdom of Heaven; these the rewards Of my great zeal: for so it hath been ever. Suspicion's a disease that cleaves to tyrants, And they who love most are the first suspected.[n18] As for your question, for what present fault I bear the wrong that now afflicts me, hear. Soon as he sat on his ancestral throne He called the gods together, and assigned To each his fair allotment, and his sphere Of sway supreme; but, ah! for wretched man! To him nor part nor portion fell: Jove vowed To blot his memory from the Earth, and mould The race anew,[f10] I only of the gods Thwarted his will;[n19] and, but for my strong aid, Hades had whelmed, and hopeless ruin swamped All men that breathe. Such were my crimes: these pains Grievous to suffer, pitiful to behold, Were purchased thus; and mercy's now denied To him whose crime was mercy to mankind: And here I lie, in cunning torment stretched,[n20] A spectacle inglorious to Jove. CHORUS. An iron-heart were his, and flinty hard, Who on thy woes could look without a tear, Prometheus; I had liefer not so seen thee, And seeing thee fain would call mine eyesight liar. PROMETHEUS. Certes no sight am I for friends to look on. CHORUS. Was this thy sole offence? PROMETHEUS. I taught weak mortals Not to foresee harm, and forestall the Fates. {190} CHORUS. A sore disease to anticipate mischance: How didst thou cure it? PROMETHEUS. Blind hopes of good I planted In their dark breasts.[n21] CHORUS. That was a boon indeed, To ephemeral man. PROMETHEUS. Nay more, I gave them fire. CHORUS. And flame-faced fire is now enjoyed by mortals?[n22] PROMETHEUS. Enjoyed, and of all arts the destined mother.