Page:Prometheus Unbound - Shelley.djvu/43

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.

⁠Mer. 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?

⁠Pro. I know but this, that it must come.

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

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

⁠Mer.⁠Yet pause, and plunge