_Prometheus._ Hearken the rest, And marvel further, what more arts and means I did invent,--this, greatest: if a man Fell sick, there was no cure, nor esculent Nor chrism nor liquid, but for lack of drugs Men pined and wasted, till I showed them all Those mixtures of emollient remedies Whereby they might be rescued from disease. I fixed the various rules of mantic art, Discerned the vision from the common dream, Instructed them in vocal auguries Hard to interpret, and defined as plain The wayside omens,--flights of crook-clawed birds,-- Showed which are, by their nature, fortunate, And which not so, and what the food of each, And what the hates, affections, social needs, Of all to one another,--taught what sign Of visceral lightness, coloured to a shade, May charm the genial gods, and what fair spots Commend the lung and liver. Burning so The limbs encased in fat, and the long chine, I led my mortals on to an art abstruse, And cleared their eyes to the image in the fire, Erst filmed in dark. Enough said now of this For the other helps of man hid underground, The iron and the brass, silver and gold, Can any dare affirm he found them out Before me? none, I know! unless he choose To lie in his vaunt. In one word learn the whole,-- That all arts came to mortals from Prometheus. _Chorus._ Give mortals now no inexpedient help, Neglecting thine own sorrow. I have hope still To see thee, breaking from the fetter here, Stand up as strong as Zeus. _Prometheus._ This ends not thus, The oracular fate ordains. I must be bowed By infinite woes and pangs, to escape this chain Necessity is stronger than mine art. _Chorus._ Who holds the helm of that Necessity? _Prometheus._ The threefold Fates and the unforgetting Furies. _Chorus._ Is Zeus less absolute than these are? _Prometheus._ Yea, And therefore cannot fly what is ordained. _Chorus._ What is ordained for Zeus, except to be A king for ever? _Prometheus._ 'Tis too early yet For thee to learn it: ask no more. _Chorus._ Perhaps Thy secret may be something holy? _Prometheus._ Turn To another matter: this, it is not time To speak abroad, but utterly to veil In silence. For by that same secret kept, I 'scape this chain's dishonour and its woe.