No More Learning

' I can put up with a few words from you, for Hermes' sake.

_Pl_. A speech of some length might seem to be needed, considering the
number of your charges; however, just examine your imputations of
injustice. It was I that gave you those great objects of desire--
consideration, precedence, honours, and every delight; all eyes and
tongues and attentions were yours--my gifts; and if flatterers abused
you, I am not responsible for that. It is I who should rather
complain; you prostituted me vilely to scoundrels, whose laudations
and cajolery of you were only samples of their designs upon me. As to
your saying that I wound up by betraying you, you have things
topsy-turvy again; _I_ may complain; you took every method to estrange
me, and finally kicked me out neck and crop. That is why your revered
Dame Poverty has supplied you with a smock-frock to replace your soft
raiment. Why, I begged and prayed Zeus (and Hermes heard me) that I
might be excused from revisiting a person who had been so unfriendly
to me as you.

_Her_. But you see how he is changed, Plutus; you need not be afraid
to live with him now. Just go on digging, Timon; and you, Plutus, put
Thesaurus in position; he will come at your call.

_Tim_. I must obey, and be a rich man again, Hermes; what can one do,
when Gods insist? But reflect what troubles you are bringing on my
luckless head; I have had a blissful life of late, and now for no
fault of my own I am to have my hands full of gold and care again.

_Her_. Hard, intolerable fate! yet endure for my sake, if only that
the flatterers may burst themselves with envy. And now for heaven, via
Etna.

_Pl_. He is off, I suppose, from the beating of his wings. Now, you
stay where you are, while I go and fetch Thesaurus to you; or rather,
dig hard. Here, Gold! Thesaurus I say! answer Timon's summons and let
him unearth you. Now, Timon, with a will; a deep stroke or two. I will
leave you together.

_Tim_. Come, spade, show your mettle; stick to it; invite Thesaurus to
step up from his retreat. . . . O God of Wonders! O mystic priests! O
lucky Hermes! whence this flood of gold? Sure, 'tis all a dream;
methinks 'twill be ashes when I wake. And yet--coined gold, ruddy and
heavy, a feast of delight!

O gold, the fairest gift to mortal eyes!
be it night, or be it day,
Thou dost outshine all else like living fire.

Come to me, my own, my beloved. I doubt the tale no longer; well might
Zeus take the shape of gold; where is the maid that would not open her
bosom to receive so fair a lover gliding through the roof?

Talk of Midas, Croesus, Delphic treasures! they were all nothing to
Timon and his wealth; why, the Persian King could not match it. My
spade, my dearest smock-frock, you must hang, a votive offering to
Pan. And now I will buy up this desert corner, and build a tiny castle
for my treasure, big enough for me to live in all alone, and, when I
am dead, to lie in. And be the rule and law of my remaining days to
shun all men, be blind to all men, scorn all men. Friendship,
hospitality, society, compassion--vain words all. To be moved by
another's tears, to assist another's need--be such things illegal and
immoral. Let me live apart like a wolf; be Timon's one friend--Timon.

All others are my foes and ill-wishers; to hold communion with them is
pollution; to set eyes upon one of them marks the day unholy; let them
be to me even as images of bronze or stone. I will receive no herald
from them, keep with them no truce; the bounds of my desert are the
line they may not cross. Cousin and kinsman, neighbour and
countryman--these are dead useless names, wherein fools may find a
meaning. Let Timon keep his wealth to himself, scorn all men, and live
in solitary luxury, quit of flattery and vulgar praise; let him
sacrifice and feast alone, his own associate and neighbour, far from
[Footnote: Reading, with Dindorf, _hekas o`n_ for _ekseio`n_. ] the
world. Yea, when his last day comes, let there be none to close his
eyes and lay him out, but himself alone.

Be the name he loves Misanthropus, and the marks whereby he may be
known peevishness and spleen, wrath and rudeness and abhorrence. If
ever one burning to death should call for help against the flames, let
me help--with pitch and oil. If another be swept past me by a winter
torrent, and stretch out his hands for aid, then let mine press him
down head under, that he never rise again. So shall they receive as
they have given. Mover of this resolution--Timon, son of Echecratides
of Collytus. Presiding officer--the same Timon. The ayes have it. Let
it be law, and duly observed.

All the same, I would give a good deal to have the fact of my enormous
wealth generally known; they would all be fit to hang themselves over
it. . . . Why, what is this? Well, that is quick work. Here they come
running from every point of the compass, all dusty and panting; they
have smelt out the gold somehow or other. Now, shall I get on top of
this knoll, keep up a galling fire of stones from my point of vantage,
and get rid of them that way? Or shall I make an exception to my law
by parleying with them for once? contempt might hit harder than
stones. Yes, I think that is better; I will stay where I am, and
receive them. Let us see, who is this in front? Ah, Gnathonides the
flatterer; when I asked an alms of him the other day, he offered me a
halter; many a cask of my wine has he made a beast of himself over. I
congratulate him on his speed; first come, first served.

_Gna_. What did I tell them? --Timon was too good a man to be abandoned
by Providence. How are you, Timon? as good-looking and good-tempered,
as good a fellow, as ever?

_Tim_. And you, Gnathonides, still teaching vultures rapacity, and men
cunning?

_Gna_. Ah, he always liked his little joke. But where do you dine? I
have brought a new song with me, a march out of the last musical thing
on.

_Tim_. It will be a funeral march, then, and a very touching one, with
spade _obbligato_.

_Gna_. What means this? This is assault, Timon; just let me find a
witness! . . . Oh, my God, my God! . . . I'll have you before the
Areopagus for assault and battery.

_Tim_. You'd better not wait much longer, or you'll have to make it
murder.

_Gna_. Mercy, mercy! . . . Now, a little gold ointment to heal the
wound; it is a first-rate styptic.

_Tim_. What! you _won't_ go, won't you?

_Gna_. Oh, I am going. But you shall repent this. Alas, so genial
once, and now so rude!

_Tim_. Now who is this with the bald crown? Why, it is Philiades; if
there is a loathsome flatterer, it is he. When I sang that song that
nobody else would applaud, he lauded me to the skies, and swore no
dying swan could be more tuneful; his reward was one of my farms, and
a 500 pounds portion for his daughter. And then when he found I was
ill, and had come to him for assistance, his generous aid took the
form of blows.

_Phil_. You shameless creatures! yes, yes, _now_ you know Timon's
merits! _now_ Gnathonides would be his friend and boon-companion!
well, he has the right reward of ingratitude. Some of us were his
familiars and playmates and neighbours; but _we_ hold back a little;
we would not seem to thrust ourselves upon him. Greeting, lord Timon;
pray let me warn you against these abominable flatterers; they are
your humble servants during meal-times, and else about as useful as
carrion crows. Perfidy is the order of the day; everywhere ingratitude
and vileness. I was just bringing a couple of hundred pounds, for your
immediate necessities, and was nearly here before I heard of your
splendid fortune. So I just came on to give you this word of caution;
though indeed you are wise enough (I would take your advice before
Nestor's myself) to need none of my counsel.

_Tim_. Quite so, Philiades. But come near, will you not, and receive
my--spade!

_Phil_. Help, help! this thankless brute has broken my head, for
giving him good counsel.

_Tim_. Now for number three. Lawyer Demeas--my cousin, as he calls
himself, with a decree in his hand. Between three and four thousand it
was that I paid in to the Treasury in ready money for him; he had been
fined that amount and imprisoned in default, and I took pity on him.
Well, the other day he was distributing-officer of the festival money
[Footnote: Every citizen had the right to receive from the State the
small sum which would pay for his admission to theatrical or other
festival entertainments. ]; when I applied for my share, he pretended I
was not a citizen.

_Dem_. Hail, Timon, ornament of our race, pillar of Athens, shield of
Hellas! The Assembly and both Councils are met, and expect your
appearance. But first hear the decree which I have proposed in your
honour. 'WHEREAS Timon son of Echecratides of Collytus who adds to
high position and character a sagacity unmatched in Greece is a
consistent and indefatigable promoter of his country's good and
Whereas he has been victorious at Olympia on one day in boxing
wrestling and running as well as in the two and the four-horse chariot
races--'

_Tim_. Why, I was never so much as a spectator at Olympia.

_Dem_. What does that matter? you will be some day. It looks better to
have a good deal of that sort in--'and Whereas he fought with
distinction last year at Acharnae cutting two Peloponnesian companies
to pieces--'

_Tim_. Good work that, considering that my name was not on the
muster-rolls, because I could not afford a suit of armour.

_Dem_. Ah, you are modest; but it would be ingratitude in us to forget
your services--'and Whereas by political measures and responsible
advice and military action he has conferred great benefits on his
country Now for all these reasons it is the pleasure of the Assembly
and the Council the ten divisions of the High Court and the Borough
Councils individually and collectively THAT a golden statue of the
said Timon be placed on the Acropolis alongside of Athene with a
thunderbolt in the hand and a seven-rayed aureole on the head Further
that golden garlands be conferred on him and proclaimed this day at
the New Tragedies [Footnote: See _Dionysia_ in Notes] the said day
being kept in his honour as the Dionysia. Mover of the Decree Demeas
the pleader the said Timon's near relation and disciple the said Timon
being as distinguished in pleading as in all else wherein it pleases
him to excel. '

So runs the decree. I had designed also to present to you my son, whom
I have named Timon after you.

_Tim_. Why, I thought you were a bachelor, Demeas.

_Dem_. Ah, but I intend to marry next year; my child--which is to be a
boy--I hereby name Timon.

_Tim_. I doubt whether you will feel like marrying, my man, when I
have given you--this!

_Dem_. Oh Lord! what is that for? . . . You are plotting a _coup
d'etat_, you Timon; you assault free men, and you are neither a free
man nor a citizen yourself. You shall soon be called to account for
your crimes; it was you set fire to the Acropolis, for one thing.

_Tim_. Why, you scoundrel, the Acropolis has not been set on fire; you
are a common blackmailer.

_Dem_. You got your gold by breaking into the Treasury.

_Tim_. It has not been broken into, either; you are not even
plausible.

_Dem_. There is time for the burglary yet; meantime, you are in
possession of the treasures.

_Tim_. Well, here is another for you, anyhow.

_Dem_. Oh! oh! my back!

_Tim_. Don't make such a noise, if you don't want a third. It would be
too absurd, you know, if I could cut two companies of Spartans to
pieces without my armour, and not be able to give a single little
scoundrel his deserts. My Olympic boxing and wrestling victories would
be thrown away.

Whom have we now? is this Thrasycles the philosopher? sure enough it
is. A halo of beard, eyebrows an inch above their place, superiority
in his air, a look that might storm heaven, locks waving to the wind--
'tis a very Boreas or Triton from Zeuxis' pencil. This hero of the
careful get-up, the solemn gait, the plain attire--in the morning he
will utter a thousand maxims, expounding Virtue, arraigning self-
indulgence, lauding simplicity; and then, when he gets to dinner after
his bath, his servant fills him a bumper (he prefers it neat), and
draining this Lethe-draught he proceeds to turn his morning maxima
inside out; he swoops like a hawk on dainty dishes, elbows his
neighbour aside, fouls his beard with trickling sauce, laps like a
dog, with his nose in his plate, as if he expected to find Virtue
there, and runs his finger all round the bowl, not to lose a drop of
the gravy. Let him monopolize pastry or joint, he will still criticize
the carving--that is all the satisfaction his ravenous greed brings
him--; when the wine is in, singing and dancing are delights not
fierce enough; he must brawl and rave. He has plenty to say in his
cups--he is then at his best in that kind--upon temperance and
decorum; he is full of these when his potations have reduced him to
ridiculous stuttering. Next the wine disagrees with him, and at last
he is carried out of the room, holding on with all his might to the
flute-girl. Take him sober, for that matter, and you will hardly find
his match at lying, effrontery or avarice.
He is _facile princeps_ of
flatterers, perjury sits on his tongue-tip, imposture goes before him,
and shamelessness is his good comrade; oh, he is a most ingenious
piece of work, finished at all points, a _multum in parvo_. I am
afraid his kind heart will be grieved presently. Why, how is this,
Thrasycles? I must say, you have taken your time about coming.

_Thr_. Ah, Timon, I am not come like the rest of the crowd; _they_ are
dazzled by your wealth; they are gathered together with an eye to gold
and silver and high living; they will soon be showing their servile
tricks before your unsuspicious, generous self. As for me, you know a
crust is all the dinner I care for; the relish I like best is a bit of
thyme or cress; on festal days I may go as far as a sprinkling of
salt. My drink is the crystal spring; and this threadbare cloak is
better than your gay robes. Gold--I value it no higher than pebbles on
the beach. What brought _me_ was concern for you; I would not have you
ruined by this same pestilent wealth, this temptation for plunderers;
many is the man it has sunk in helpless misery. Take my advice, and
fling it bodily into the sea; a good man, to whom the wealth of
philosophy is revealed, has no need of the other. It does not matter
about deep water, my good sir; wade in up to your waist when the tide
is near flood, and _let no one see you but me_. Or if that is not
satisfactory, here is another plan even better. Get it all out of the
house as quick as you can, not reserving a penny for yourself, and
distribute it to the poor five shillings to one, five pounds to
another, a hundred to a third; philosophy might constitute a claim to
a double or triple share. For my part--and I do not ask for myself,
only to divide it among my needy friends--I should be quite content
with as much as my scrip would hold; it is something short of two
standard bushels; if one professes philosophy, one must be moderate
and have few needs--none that go beyond the capacity of a scrip.

_Tim_. Very right, Thrasycles. But instead of a mere scripful, pray
take a whole headful of clouts, standard measure by the spade.

_Thr_. Land of liberty, equality, legality! protect me against this
ruffian!

_Tim_. What is your grievance, my good man? is the measure short? here
is a pint or two extra, then, to put it right.

Why, what now? here comes a crowd; friend Blepsias, Laches, Gniphon;
their name is legion; they shall howl soon. I had better get up on the
rock; my poor tired spade wants a little rest; I will collect all the
stones I can lay hands on, and pepper them at long range.

_Bl_. Don't throw, Timon; we are going.

_Tim_. Whether the retreat will be bloodless, however, is another
question.

H.




PROMETHEUS ON CAUCASUS

_Hermes. Hephaestus. Prometheus. _


_Her_. This, Hephaestus, is the Caucasus, to which it is our painful
duty to nail our companion. We have now to select a suitable crag,
free from snow, on which the chains will have a good hold, and the
prisoner will hang in all publicity.

_Heph_. True. It will not do to fix him too low down, or these _men_
of his might come to their maker's assistance; nor at the top, where
he would be invisible from the earth. What do you say to a middle
course? Let him hang over this precipice, with his arms stretched
across from crag to crag.

_Her_. The very thing. Steep rocks, slightly overhanging, inaccessible
on every side; no foothold but a mere ledge, with scarcely room for
the tips of one's toes; altogether a sweet spot for a crucifixion.
Now, Prometheus, come and be nailed up; there is no time to lose.

_Prom_. Nay, hear me; Hephaestus! Hermes! I suffer injustice: have
compassion on my woes!

_Her_. In other words, disobey orders, and promptly be gibbeted in
your stead! Do you suppose there is not room on the Caucasus to peg
out a couple of us? Come, your right hand! clamp it down, Hephaestus,
and in with the nails; bring down the hammer with a will. Now the
left; make sure work of that too. --So! --The eagle will shortly be
here, to trim your liver; so ingenious an artist is entitled to every
attention.

_Prom_. O Cronus, and Iapetus, and Mother Earth! Behold the sufferings
of the innocent!

_Her_. Why, as to innocence,--to begin with, there was that business
of the sacrificial meats, your manner of distributing which was most
unfair, most disingenuous: you got all the choice parts for yourself,
and put Zeus off with bones 'wrapped up in shining fat'; I remember
the passage in Hesiod; those are his very words. Then you made these
human beings; creatures of unparalleled wickedness, the women
especially. And to crown all, you stole fire, the most precious
possession of the Gods, and gave it to them. And with all this on your
conscience, you protest that you have done nothing to deserve
captivity.

_Prom_. Ah, Hermes; you are as bad as Hector; you 'blame the
blameless. ' For such crimes as these, I deserve a round pension, if
justice were done. And by the way, I should like, if you can spare the
time, to answer to these charges, and satisfy you of the injustice of
my sentence. You can employ your practised eloquence on behalf of
Zeus, and justify his conduct in nailing me up here at the Gates of
the Caspian, for all Scythia to behold and pity.

_Her_. There is nothing to be gained now by an appeal to another
court; it is too late. Proceed, however. We have to wait in any case
till the eagle comes to look after that liver of yours; and the time
might be worse spent than in listening to the subtleties of such a
master in impudence as yourself.

_Prom_. You begin then, Hermes. Exert all your powers of invective;
leave no stone unturned to establish the righteousness of papa's
judgements. --You, Hephaestus, shall compose the jury.

_Heph_. The jury! Not a bit of it; I am a party in this case. My
furnace has been cold, ever since you stole that fire.

_Prom_. Well, at this rate you had better divide the prosecution
between you. You conduct the case of larceny, and Hermes can handle
the man-making, and the misappropriation of meat. I shall expect a
great deal of you; you are both artists.

_Heph_. Hermes shall speak for me. The law is not in my line; my
forge takes up most of my time. But Hermes is an orator; he has made a
study of these things.

_Prom_. Well! I should never have thought that Hermes would have the
heart to reproach me with larceny; he ought to have a fellow-feeling
for me there. However, with this further responsibility on your
shoulders, there is no time to be lost, son of Maia; out with your
accusation, and have done with it.

_Her_. To deal adequately with your crimes, Prometheus, would require
many words and much preparation. It is not enough to mention the
several counts of the accusation; how, entrusted with the distribution
of meats, you defrauded the crown by retaining the choicer portions
for your own use; how you created the race of men, with absolutely no
justification for so doing; how you stole fire and conveyed it to
these same men. You seem not to realize, my friend, that, all-things
considered, Zeus has dealt very handsomely by you. Now, if you deny
the charges, I shall be compelled to establish your guilt at some
length, and to set the facts in the clearest possible light. But if
you admit the distribution of meat in the manner described, the
introduction of men, and the theft of fire,--then my case is complete,
and there is no more to be said. To expatiate further would be to talk
nonsense.

_Prom_. Perhaps there has been some nonsense talked already; that
remains to be seen. But as you say your case is now complete, I will
see what I can do in the way of refutation. And first about that meat.
Though, upon my word, I blush for Zeus when I name it: to think that
he should be so touchy about trifles, as to send off a God of my
quality to crucifixion, just because he found a little bit of bone in
his share! Does he forget the services I have rendered him? And does
he think what it is that he is so angry about, and how childish it is
to show temper about a little thing like that? What if he did miss
getting the better share? Why, Hermes, these tricks that are played
over the wine-cups are not worth thinking twice about. A joke,
perhaps, is carried a little too far, in the warmth of the feast;
still, it is a joke, and resentment should be left behind in the dregs
of the bowl. I have no patience with your long memories; this nursing
of grievances, this raking up of last night's squabbles, is unworthy
of a king, let alone a king of Gods. Once take away from our feasts
the little elegancies of quip and crank and wile, and what is left?
Muzziness; repletion; silence;--cheerful accompaniments these to the
wine-bowl! For my part, I never supposed that Zeus would give the
matter a thought the next morning; much less that he would make such a
stir about it, and think himself so mightily injured; my little
manoeuvre with the meat was merely a playful experiment, to see which
he would choose. It might have been worse. Instead of giving him the
inferior half, I might have defrauded him of the whole. And what if I
had? Would that have been a case for putting heaven and earth in
commotion, for deep designs of chain and cross and Caucasus,
dispatchings of eagles, rendings of livers? These things tell a sad
tale, do they not, of the puny soul, the little mind, the touchy
temper of the aggrieved party? How would he take the loss of a whole
ox, who storms to such purpose over a few pounds of meat? How much
more reasonable is the conduct of mortals, though one would have
expected them to be more irritable than Gods! A mortal would never
want his cook crucified for dipping a finger into the stew-pan, or
filching a mouthful from the roast; they overlook these things. At the
worst their resentment is satisfied with a box on the ears or a rap on
the head. I find no precedent among them for crucifixion in such
cases. So much for the affair of the meat; there is little credit to
be got in the refutation of such a charge, and still less in the
bringing of it.

I am next to speak of my creation of mankind. And here the terms of
your accusation are ambiguous. I have to choose between two distinct
possibilities. Do you maintain that I had no right to create men at
all, that I ought to have left the senseless clay alone? Or do you
only complain of the form in which I designed them? However, I shall
have something to say on both points. I shall first endeavour to show
that no harm has accrued to the Gods from my bringing mankind into
existence; and shall then proceed to the positive advantages and
improvements which have resulted to them from the peopling of the
earth. The question as to the harm done by my innovation is best
answered by an appeal to the past, to those days when the race of
heaven-born Gods stood alone, and earth was a hideous shapeless mass,
a tangle of rude vegetation. The Gods had no altars then, nor temples
(for who should raise them? ), no images of wood or stone, such as now
abound in every corner of the earth, and are honoured with all
observance. It was to me that the idea occurred--amid my ceaseless
meditations on the common welfare, on the aggrandizement of the Gods
and the promotion of order and beauty in the universe--of setting all
to rights with a handful of clay; of creating living things, and
moulding them after our own likeness. I saw what was lacking to our
godhead: some counterpart, some foil wherein to set off its
blessedness. And that counterpart must be mortal; but in all else
exquisitely contrived, perfect in intelligence, keen to appreciate our
superiority. Thereupon, I moulded my material,

With water mingling clay,

and created man, calling in Athene to aid me in the task. And this is
my rank offence against the Gods. Destructive work,--to reduce
inanimate clay to life and motion! The Gods, it seems, are Gods no
longer, now that there are mortal creatures on the earth. To judge at
least by Zeus's indignation, one would suppose that the Gods suffered
some loss of prestige from the creation of mankind; unless it is that
he is afraid of another revolt, of their waging war with heaven, like
the Giants.

That the cause of the Gods suffered nothing at my hands is evident;
show me the slightest instance to the contrary, and I will say no
more; I have but my deserts. But for the positive benefits I have
conferred, use the evidence of your eyes. The earth, no longer barren
and untilled, is decked with cities and farms and the fruits of
cultivation; the sea has its ships, the islands their inhabitants.
Everywhere are altars and temples, everywhere festivals and
sacrifices:

Zeus with his presence fills their gatherings,
He fills their streets.

Had I created mankind for my own private convenience, it might perhaps
have denoted a grasping spirit: but I made them common property; they
are at the service of every God of you. Nay more: temples of Zeus, and
Apollo, and Hera, temples of Hermes, are everywhere to be seen; but
who ever saw a temple of Prometheus? You may judge from this, how far
I have sacrificed the common cause to my private ambition.

And further. Consider, Hermes: can any good thing whatsoever, be it
gift of Nature or work of our hands, give the full measure of
enjoyment to its possessor, when there is none to see, none to admire?
You see whither my question tends? But for mankind, the glories of the
universe must have been without a witness; and there was little
satisfaction to be derived from a wealth which was doomed to excite no
envy in others. We should have lacked a standard for comparison; and
should never have known the extent of our happiness, while all were as
happy as ourselves. The great is not great, till it is compared with
the small. Yet instead of honouring me for my political insight, you
crucify me; such are the wages of wisdom!

Ah, but (you will say) there is so much wickedness among them;
adultery, war, incest, parricide. Well, I fancy these are not unknown
among ourselves? And I am sure no one would think that a reason for
saying that Uranus and Ge made a mistake in creating us. Or again, you
will complain that we have so much trouble in looking after them. At
that rate, a shepherd ought to object to the possession of a flock,
because he has to look after it. Besides, a certain show of occupation
is rather gratifying than otherwise; the responsibility is not
unwelcome,--it helps to pass the time. What should we do, if we had
not mankind to think of? There would be nothing to live for; we should
sit about drinking nectar and gorging ourselves with ambrosia. But
what fairly takes away my breath is, your assurance in finding fault
with my _women_ in particular, when all the time you are in love
with them: our bulls and satyrs and swans are never tired of making
descents upon the Earth; women, they find, are good enough to be made
the mothers of Gods!

Yes, yes (you will say), it was quite right that men should be
created, but they should not have been made in our likeness. And what
better model could I have taken than this, whose perfection I knew?
Was I to make them brute beasts without understanding? Had they been
other than they are, how should they have paid you due honour and
sacrifice? When the hecatombs are getting ready, you think nothing of
a journey to the ends of the earth to see the 'blameless Ethiopians';
and my reward for procuring you these advantages is--crucifixion! But
on this subject I have said enough.

And now, with your permission, I will approach the subject of that
stolen fire, of which we hear so much. I have a question to ask, which
I beg you will answer frankly. Has there been one spark less fire in
Heaven, since men shared it with us? Of course not. It is the nature
of fire, that it does not become less by being imparted to others. A
fire is not put out by kindling another from it. No, this is sheer
envy: you cannot bear that men should have a share of this necessary,
though you have suffered no harm thereby. For shame! Gods should be
beneficent, 'givers of good'; they should be above all envy. Had I
taken away fire altogether, and left not a spark behind, it would have
been no great loss. You have no use for it. You are never cold; you
need no artificial light; nor is ambrosia improved by boiling. To man,
on the other hand, fire is indispensable for many purposes,
particularly for those of sacrifice; how else are they to fill their
streets with the savour of burnt-offerings, and the fumes of
frankincense I how else to burn fat thigh-pieces upon your altars? I
observe that you take a particular pleasure in the steam arising
therefrom, and think no feast more delicious than the smell of roast
meat, as it mounts heavenwards

In eddying clouds of smoke.

Your present complaint, you see, is sadly at variance with this taste.
I wonder you do not forbid the Sun to shine on mankind. He too is of
fire, and fire of a purer and diviner quality. Has anything been said
to _him_ about his lavish expenditure of your property?

And now I have done. If there is any flaw in my defence, it is for you
two to refute me. I shall answer your objections in due course.

_Her_. Nay, you are too hard for us, Prometheus; we will not attempt a
sophist of your mettle. Well for you that Zeus is not within earshot,
or you would have had a round dozen of hungry vultures to reckon with,
for certain; in clearing your own character, you have grievously
mishandled his. But one thing puzzles me: you are a prophet; you ought
to have foreseen your sentence.