PROMETHEUS. Hear me yet farther; and in hearing marvel, What arts and curious shifts my wit devised. Chiefest of all, the cure of dire disease Men owe to me. Nor healing food, nor drink, Nor unguent knew they, but did slowly wither And waste away for lack of pharmacy, Till taught by me to mix the soothing drug, And check corruption's march. I fixed the art Of divination with its various phase {196} Of dim revealings, making dreams speak truth, Stray voices, and encounters by the way Significant; the flight of taloned birds On right and left I marked--these fraught with ban, With blissful augury those; their way of life, Their mutual loves and enmities, their flocks, And friendly gatherings; the entrails' smoothness, The hue best liked by the gods, the gall, the liver With all its just proportions. I first wrapped In the smooth fat the thighs; first burnt the loins, And from the flickering flame taught men to spell No easy lore, and cleared the fire-faced signs[n33] Obscure before. Yet more: I probed the Earth, To yield its hidden wealth to help man's weakness-- Iron, copper, silver, gold. None but a fool, A prating fool, will stint me of this praise. And thus, with one short word to sum the tale, Prometheus taught all arts to mortal men. CHORUS. Do good to men, but do it with discretion. Why shouldst thou harm thyself? Good hope I nurse To see thee soon from these harsh chains unbound, As free, as mighty, as great Jove himself. PROMETHEUS. This may not be; the destined course of things Fate must accomplish; I must bend me yet 'Neath wrongs on wrongs, ere I may 'scape these bonds. Though Art be strong, Necessity is stronger. CHORUS. And who is lord of strong Necessity?[n34] PROMETHEUS. The triform Fates, and the sure-memoried Furies. CHORUS. And mighty Jove himself must yield to them? PROMETHEUS. No more than others Jove can 'scape his doom.[n35] CHORUS. What doom?--No doom hath he but endless sway. PROMETHEUS. 'Tis not for thee to know: tempt not the question. CHORUS. There's some dread mystery in thy chary speech, Close-veiled. PROMETHEUS. Urge this no more: the truth thou'lt know In fitting season; now it lies concealed In deepest darkness! for relenting Jove Himself must woo this secret from my breast. CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. Never, O never may Jove, Who in Olympus reigns omnipotent lord, {197} Plant his high will against my weak opinion![n36] Let me approach the gods With blood of oxen and with holy feasts, By father Ocean's quenchless stream, and pay No backward vows: Nor let my tongue offend; but in my heart Be lowly wisdom graven.