HERMES. Thee, cunning sophist, dealing bitter words Most bitterly against the gods, the friend Of ephemeral man, the thief of sacred fire, Thee, Father Jove commands to curb thy boasts, And say what marriage threats his stable throne. Answer this question in plain phrase, no dark Tangled enigmas; do not add, Prometheus, A second journey to my first: and, mark me! Thy obduracy cannot soften Jove. PROMETHEUS. This solemn mouthing, this proud pomp of phrase Beseems the lackey of the gods. New gods Ye are, and, being new, ye ween to hold Unshaken citadels. Have I not seen Two Monarchs ousted from that throne? the third I yet shall see precipitate hurled from Heaven With baser, speedier, ruin. Do I seem To quail before this new-forged dynasty? Fear is my farthest thought. I pray thee go Turn up the dust again upon the road Thou cam'st. Reply from me thou shalt have none. HERMES. This haughty tone hath been thy sin before: Thy pride will strand thee on a worser woe. {208} PROMETHEUS. And were my woe tenfold what now it is, I would not barter it for thy sweet chains; For liefer would I lackey this bare rock Than trip the messages of Father Jove. The insolent thus with insolence I repay. HERMES. Thou dost delight in miseries; thou art wanton. PROMETHEUS. Wanton! delighted! would my worst enemies Might wanton in these bonds, thyself the first! HERMES. Must I, too, share the blame of thy distress? PROMETHEUS. In one round sentence, every god I hate That injures me who never injured him. HERMES. Thou'rt mad, clean mad; thy wit's diseased, Prometheus. PROMETHEUS. Most mad! if madness 'tis to hate our foes. HERMES. Prosperity's too good for thee: thy temper Could not endure't. PROMETHEUS. Alas! this piercing pang! HERMES. "Alas!"--this word Jove does not understand. PROMETHEUS. As Time grows old he teaches many things. HERMES. Yet Time that teaches all leaves thee untaught. PROMETHEUS. Untaught in sooth, thus parleying with a slave! HERMES. It seems thou wilt not grant great Jove's demand. PROMETHEUS. Such love as his to me should be repaid With like! HERMES. Dost beard me like a boy? Beware. PROMETHEUS. Art not a boy, and something yet more witless, If thou expectest answer from my mouth? Nor insult harsh, nor cunning craft of Jove Shall force this tale from me, till he unloose These bonds. Yea! let him dart his levin bolts, With white-winged snows and subterranean thunders Mix and confound the elements of things! No threat, no fear, shall move me to reveal The hand that hurls him from his tyrant's throne. HERMES. Bethink thee well: thy vaunts can help thee nothing. PROMETHEUS. I speak not rashly: what I said I said. HERMES. If thou art not the bought and sold of folly, Dare to learn wisdom from thy present ills.