Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/176

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Thy heart was ever hard and overbold.

But wailing will not ease him! Waste no pains

Where thy endeavour nothing profiteth.

Oh execrable work! loathed handicraft!

Why curse thy trade? For what thou hast to do,

Troth, smithcraft is in no wise answerable.

Would that it were another's craft, not mine!

Why, all things are a burden save to rule

Over the Gods; for none is free but Zeus.

To that I answer not, knowing it true.

Why, then, make haste to cast the chains about him,

Lest glancing down on thee the Father's eye

Behold a laggard and a loiterer.

Here are the iron bracelets for his arms.

Fasten them round his arms with all thy strength!

Strike with thy hammer! Nail him to the rocks!

'Tis done! and would that it were done less well!