Shall Typhon cast with sateless wrath, though now All scorched and cindered by the Thunderer's stroke, Moveless he lies. But why should I teach thee? Thou art a wise man, thine own wisdom use To save thyself. For me, I'll even endure These pains, till Jove shall please to slack his ire. OCEAN. Know'st thou not this, Prometheus, that mild words Are medicines of fierce wrath?[n28] PROMETHEUS. They are, when spoken In a mild hour; but the high-swelling heart They do but fret the more. OCEAN. But, in the attempt To ward the threatened harm, what evil see'st thou? PROMETHEUS. Most bootless toil, and folly most inane. OCEAN. Be it so; but yet 'tis sometimes well, believe me, That a wise man should seem to be a fool. PROMETHEUS. Seem fool, seem wise, I, in the end, am blamed. OCEAN. Thy reckless words reluctant send me home. PROMETHEUS. Beware, lest love for me make thyself hated. OCEAN. Of whom? Of him, who, on the all-powerful throne Sits, a new lord? PROMETHEUS. Even him. Beware thou vex not Jove's jealous heart. OCEAN. In this, thy fate shall warn me. PROMETHEUS. Away! farewell; and may the prudent thoughts, That sway thy bosom now, direct thee ever. OCEAN. I go, and quickly. My four-footed bird Brushes the broad path of the limpid air With forward wing: right gladly will he bend The wearied knee on his familiar stall. CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. Thy dire disasters, unexampled wrongs, I weep, Prometheus. From its soft founts distilled the flowing tear My cheek bedashes. 'Tis hard, most hard! By self-made laws Jove rules, And 'gainst the host of primal gods he points The lordly spear. {194} ANTISTROPHE I. With echoing groans the ambient waste bewails Thy fate, Prometheus; The neighbouring tribes of holy Asia weep For thee, Prometheus;[n29] For thee and thine! names mighty and revered Of yore, now shamed, dishonoured, and cast down, And chained with thee. STROPHE II. And Colchis, with her belted daughters, weeps For thee, Prometheus; And Scythian tribes, on Earth's remotest verge, Where lone Mæotis[f11] spreads her wintry waters, Do weep for thee. ANTISTROPHE II. The flower of Araby's wandering warriors weep For thee, Prometheus;[n30] And they who high their airy holds have perched On Caucasus' ridge, with pointed lances bristling, Do weep for thee.