Art thou a weakling, do not therefore blame
The firm harsh-fronted will that suits my office.
Hephaesthus.
Let us away. He’s fettered limb and thew.
Might.
There lie, and feed thy pride on this bare rock,
Filching gods’ gifts for mortal men. What man
Shall free thee from these woes? Thou hast been called
In vain the Provident:[n8] had thy soul possessed
The virtue of thy name, thou hadst foreseen