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Translated by G. M. Cookson.
66 pages - You are on Page 23 Oceanus: Nay then, Prometheus, art thou ignorant Words are physicians to a wrath-sick soul? Prometheus: Yes, if with skill one soften the ripe core, Not by rough measures make it obdurate. Oceanus: Seest thou in warm affection detriment Or aught untoward in adventuring? Prometheus: A load of toil and a light mind withal. Oceanus: Then give me leave to call that sickness mine. Wise men accounted fools attain their ends. Prometheus: But how if I am galled by thine offence? Oceanus: There very palpably thou thrustest home. Previous Page / First / Next Page of Prometheus Bound
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