_Prometheus._ Beseech you, think not I am silent thus Through pride or scorn. I only gnaw my heart With meditation, seeing myself so wronged. For see--their honours to these new-made gods, What other gave but I, and dealt them out With distribution? Ay--but here I am dumb! For here, I should repeat your knowledge to you, If I spake aught. List rather to the deeds I did for mortals; how, being fools before, I made them wise and true in aim of soul. And let me tell you--not as taunting men, But teaching you the intention of my gifts, How, first beholding, they beheld in vain, And hearing, heard not, but, like shapes in dreams, Mixed all things wildly down the tedious time, Nor knew to build a house against the sun With wickered sides, nor any woodcraft knew, But lived, like silly ants, beneath the ground In hollow caves unsunned. There, came to them No steadfast sign of winter, nor of spring Flower-perfumed, nor of summer full of fruit, But blindly and lawlessly they did all things, Until I taught them how the stars do rise And set in mystery, and devised for them Number, the inducer of philosophies, The synthesis of Letters, and, beside, The artificer of all things, Memory, That sweet Muse-mother. I was first to yoke The servile beasts in couples, carrying An heirdom of man's burdens on their backs. I joined to chariots, steeds, that love the bit They champ at--the chief pomp of golden ease. And none but I originated ships, The seaman's chariots, wandering on the brine With linen wings. And I--oh, miserable!-- Who did devise for mortals all these arts, Have no device left now to save myself From the woe I suffer. _Chorus._ Most unseemly woe Thou sufferest, and dost stagger from the sense Bewildered! like a bad leech falling sick Thou art faint at soul, and canst not find the drugs Required to save thyself.