CHORUS. And is this all the roll of thy offendings That he should rage so fierce? Hath he not set Bounds to his vengeance? PROMETHEUS. None, but his own pleasure. CHORUS. And when shall he please? Vain the hope; thou see'st That thou hast erred; and that thou hast to us No pleasure brings, to thee excess of pain. Of this enough. Seek now to cure the evil. PROMETHEUS. 'Tis a light thing for him whose foot's unwarped By misadventure's meshes to advise And counsel the unfortunate. But I Foreknew my fate, and if I erred, I erred With conscious purpose, purchasing man's weal With mine own grief. I knew I should offend The Thunderer, though deeming not that he Would perch me thus to pine 'twixt Earth and Sky, Of this wild wintry waste sole habitant. But cease to weep for ills that weeping mends not; Descend, and I'll discourse to thee at length Of chances yet to come. Nay, do not doubt; But leave thy car, nor be ashamed to share The afflictions of the afflicted; for Mishap, Of things that lawless wander, wanders most; With me to-day it is with you to-morrow. CHORUS. Not to sluggish ears, Prometheus, Hast thou spoken thy desire; From our breeze-borne car descending, With light foot we greet the ground. Leaving ether chaste, smooth pathway Of the gently-winnowing wing, On this craggy rock I stand, To hear the tale, while thou mayst tell it, Of thy sorrows to the end. {191} [_Enter_ OCEAN.[n23] OCEAN. From my distant caves cerulean[n24] This fleet-pinioned bird hath borne me; Needed neither bit nor bridle, Thought instinctive reined the creature; Thus, to know thy griefs, Prometheus, And to grieve with thee I come. Soothly strong the tie of kindred Binds the heart of man and god; But, though no such tie had bound me, I had wept for thee the same. Well thou know'st not mine the cunning To discourse with glozing phrase: Tell me how I may relieve thee, I am ready to relieve; Friend thou boastest none than Ocean Surer, in the hour of need. PROMETHEUS. How now, old Ocean? thou too come to view My dire disasters?--how shouldst thou have dared, Leaving the billowy stream whose name thou bearest, Thy rock-roofed halls, and self-built palaces, To visit this Scythian land, stern mother of iron, To know my sorrows, and to grieve with me? Look on this sight--thy friend, the friend of Jove, Who helped him to the sway which now he bears, Crushed by the self-same god himself exalted.