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To you, the clever and crafty, bitter beyond all bitterness,  who has sinned against the gods in bestowing honors upon creatures of a day—to you, thief of fire, I speak. The Father commands that you tell what marriage you boast of, whereby he is to be hurled from power—and this, mark well, set forth in no riddling fashion,  but point by point, as the case exactly stands; and do not impose upon me a double journey, Prometheus—you see Zeus is not appeased by dealings such as yours. Prometheus
Bravely spoken, in truth, and swollen with pride is your speech, as befits a minion of the gods.  Young you are, as young your power, and you think indeed that you inhabit heights beyond the reach of grief. Have I not seen two sovereigns cast out from these heights? A third, the present lord, I shall live to see cast out in ruin most shameful and most swift. Do you think  I quail, perhaps, and cower before these upstart gods? Far from it—no, not at all. But scurry back the way you came; for you shall learn nothing about which you question me.
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