Which may transfer the sceptre of wide Heaven,
  The fear of which perplexes the Supreme.
  Clothe it in words, and bid it clasp his throne
  In intercession; bend thy soul in prayer,
  And like a suppliant in some gorgeous fane,
  Let the will kneel within thy haughty heart,
  For benefits and meek submission tame
  The fiercest and the mightiest.

PROMETHEUS
  Evil minds
  Change good to their own nature. I gave all
  He has; and in return he chains me here
  Years, ages, night and day; whether the Sun
  Split my parched skin, or in the moony night
  The crystal-wingèd snow cling round my hair;
  Whilst my belovèd race is trampled down
  By his thought-executing ministers.
  Such is the tyrant's recompense. 'T is just.
  He who is evil can receive no good;
  And for a world bestowed, or a friend lost,
  He can feel hate, fear, shame; not gratitude.
  He but requites me for his own misdeed.
  Kindness to such is keen reproach, which breaks
  With bitter stings the light sleep of Revenge.
  Submission thou dost know I cannot try.