Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/210

180 Me, friend of Zeus, part-author of his power—

Mark, in what ruthlessness he bows me down!

Yea, I behold, Prometheus! and would warn

Thee, spite of all thy wisdom, for thy weal!

Learn now thyself to know, and to renew

A rightful spirit within thee, for, made new

With pride of place, sits Zeus among the gods!

Now, if thou choosest to fling forth on him

Words rough with anger thus and edged with scorn,

Zeus, though he sit aloof, afar, on high,

May hear thine utterance, and make thee deem

His present wrath a mere pretence of pain.

Banish, poor wretch! the passion of thy soul,

And seek, instead, acquittance from thy pangs!

Belike my words seem ancientry to thee—

Such, natheless, O Prometheus, is the meed

That doth await the overweening tongue!

Meek wert thou never, wilt not crouch to pain,

But, set amid misfortunes, cravest more!

Now—if thou let thyself be schooled by me—

Thou must not kick against the goad. Thou knowest,

A despot rules, harsh, resolute, supreme,

Whose law is will. Yet shall I go to him,

With all endeavour to relieve thy plight—

So thou wilt curb the tempest of thy tongue!

Surely thou knowest, in thy wisdom deep,

The saw—Who vaunts amiss, quick pain is his.

O enviable thou, and unaccused—

Thou who wast art and part in all I dared!