Thy care; to these steep cliffy rocks bind down
With close-linked chains of during adamant
This daring wretch.[n2] For he the bright-rayed fire,
Mother of arts, flower of thy potency,
Filched from the gods, and gave to mortals. Here,
Just guerdon of his sin shall find him; here
Let his pride learn to bow to Jove supreme,
And love men well, but love them not too much.
Hephaesthus.
Ye twain, rude Might and Force, have done your work