Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/43

SCENE I. For what submission but that fatal word, The death-seal of mankind's captivity, Like the Sicilian's hair-suspended sword, Which trembles o'er his crown, would he accept, Or could I yield? Which yet I will not yield. Let others flatter Crime where it sits throned In brief Omnipotence: secure are they: For Justice, when triumphant, will weep down Pity, not punishment, on her own wrongs, Too much avenged by those who err. I wait, Enduring thus, the retributive hour Which since we spake is even nearer now. But hark, the hell-hounds clamour: fear delay: Behold! Heaven lowers under thy Father's frown.

Oh, that we might be spared: I to inflict, And thou to suffer! Once more answer me: Thou knowest not the period of Jove's power?

I know but this, that it must come.

Alas! Thou canst not count thy years to come of pain?

They last while Jove must reign; nor more, nor less Do I desire or fear.

Yet pause, and plunge