Page:Four Plays of Aeschylus (Cookson).djvu/217

Rh With agony more dreadful, pain beyond

These pains.

Why let him if he will!

All evils I foreknow.

Ay, they are wise

Who do obeisance, prostrate in the dust,

To the implacable, eternal Will.

Go thou and worship; fold thy hands in prayer,

And be the dog that licks the foot of power!

Nothing care I for Zeus; yea, less than naught!

Let him do what he will, and sway the world

His little hour; he has not long to lord it

Among the Gods.

Oh! here his runner comes!

The upstart tyrant's lacquey! He'll bring news,

A message, never doubt it, from his master.

You, the sophistical rogue, the heart of gall,

The renegade of heaven,—to short-lived men

Purveyor of prerogatives and titles,—

Fire-thief! Dost hear me? I've a word for thee.

Thou'rt to declare,—this is the Father's pleasure—

These marriage-feasts of thine, whereof thy tongue

Rattles a-pace, and by the which his greatness

Shall take a fall. And look you rede no riddles,

But tell the truth, in each particular

Exact. I am not to sweat for thee, Prometheus,

Upon a double journey. And thou seest

Zeus by thy dark defiance is not moved.