_Prometheus._ A speech well-mouthed In the utterance, and full-minded in the sense, As doth befit a servant of the gods! New gods, ye newly reign, and think forsooth Ye dwell in towers too high for any dart To carry a wound there!--have I not stood by While two kings fell from thence? and shall I not Behold the third, the same who rules you now, Fall, shamed to sudden ruin?--Do I seem To tremble and quail before your modern gods? Far be it from me!--For thyself, depart, Re-tread thy steps in haste. To all thou hast asked I answer nothing. _Hermes._ Such a wind of pride Impelled thee of yore full-sail upon these rocks. _Prometheus._ I would not barter---learn thou soothly that!-- My suffering for thy service. I maintain It is a nobler thing to serve these rocks Than live a faithful slave to father Zeus. Thus upon scorners I retort their scorn. _Hermes._ It seems that thou dost glory in thy despair. _Prometheus._ I glory? would my foes did glory so, And I stood by to see them!--naming whom, Thou art not unremembered. _Hermes._ Dost thou charge Me also with the blame of thy mischance? _Prometheus._ I tell thee I loathe the universal gods, Who for the good I gave them rendered back The ill of their injustice. _Hermes._ Thou art mad-- Thou art raving, Titan, at the fever-height. _Prometheus._ If it be madness to abhor my foes, May I be mad! _Hermes._ If thou wert prosperous Thou wouldst be unendurable. _Prometheus._ Alas! _Hermes._ Zeus knows not that word. _Prometheus._ But maturing Time Teaches all things. _Hermes._ Howbeit, thou hast not learnt The wisdom yet, thou needest. _Prometheus._ If I had, I should not talk thus with a slave like thee. _Hermes._ No answer thou vouchsafest, I believe, To the great Sire's requirement. _Prometheus._ Verily I owe him grateful service,--and should pay it. _Hermes._ Why, thou dost mock me, Titan, as I stood A child before thy face. _Prometheus._ No child, forsooth, But yet more foolish than a foolish child, If thou expect that I should answer aught Thy Zeus can ask. No torture from his hand Nor any machination in the world Shall force mine utterance ere he loose, himself, These cankerous fetters from me. For the rest, Let him now hurl his blanching lightnings down, And with his white-winged snows and mutterings deep Of subterranean thunders mix all things, Confound them in disorder. None of this Shall bend my sturdy will and make me speak The name of his dethroner who shall come. _Hermes._ Can this avail thee? Look to it! _Prometheus._ Long ago It was looked forward to, precounselled of.