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 sis 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 clamor: fear delay:
  Behold! Heaven lowers under thy Father's frown.

MERCURY
  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?

PROMETHEUS
  I know but this, that it must come.

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

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