Ay, do thy worst.  Thou art omnipotent. 
O’er all things but thyself I gave thee power,
And my own will.  Be thy swift mischiefs sent
To blast mankind, from yon ethereal tower. 275
Let thy malignant spirit move
In darkness over those I love: 
On me and mine I imprecate
The utmost torture of thy hate;
And thus devote to sleepless agony, 280
This undeclining head while thou must reign on high.

But thou, who art the God and Lord:  O, thou,
Who fillest with thy soul this world of woe,
To whom all things of Earth and Heaven do bow
In fear and worship:  all-prevailing foe! 285
I curse thee! let a sufferer’s curse
Clasp thee, his torturer, like remorse;
Till thine Infinity shall be
A robe of envenomed agony;
And thine Omnipotence a crown of pain, 290
To cling like burning gold round thy dissolving brain.

Heap on thy soul, by virtue of this Curse,
Ill deeds, then be thou damned, beholding good;
Both infinite as is the universe,
And thou, and thy self-torturing solitude. 295
An awful image of calm power
Though now thou sittest, let the hour
Come, when thou must appear to be
That which thou art internally;
And after many a false and fruitless crime 300
Scorn track thy lagging fall through boundless space and time.

PROMETHEUS: 
Were these my words, O Parent?

THE EARTH: 
They were thine.

PROMETHEUS: 
It doth repent me:  words are quick and vain;
Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine. 
I wish no living thing to suffer pain. 305

THE EARTH: 
Misery, Oh misery to me,
That Jove at length should vanquish thee. 
Wail, howl aloud, Land and Sea,
The Earth’s rent heart shall answer ye. 
Howl, Spirits of the living and the dead, 310
Your refuge, your defence, lies fallen and vanquished.

FIRST ECHO: 
Lies fallen and vanquished!

SECOND ECHO: 
Fallen and vanquished!

IONE: 
Fear not:  ’tis but some passing spasm,
The Titan is unvanquished still. 315
But see, where through the azure chasm
Of yon forked and snowy hill
Trampling the slant winds on high
With golden-sandalled feet, that glow
Under plumes of purple dye, 320
Like rose-ensanguined ivory,
A Shape comes now,
Stretching on high from his right hand
A serpent-cinctured wand.

PANTHEA: 
’Tis Jove’s world-wandering herald, Mercury. 325

IONE: 
And who are those with hydra tresses
And iron wings that climb the wind,
Whom the frowning God represses
Like vapours steaming up behind,
Clanging loud, an endless crowd—­ 330