Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (1908) Morshead.djvu/213

Rh

I see a fool's good nature, useless toil.

Let me be sick of that disease; I know,

Loyalty, masked as folly, wins the way.

But of thy blunder I shall bear the blame.

Clearly, thy word would send me home again.

Lest thy lament for me should bring thee hate.

Hate from the newly-throned Omnipotence?

Be heedful—lest his will be wroth with thee!

Thy doom, Prometheus, cries to me Beware !

Mount, make away, discretion at thy side!