Hermes monologue — Four Plays of Aeschylus

So, I shall speak, whate’er I speak, in vain! No prayer can melt or soften thy resolve; But, as a colt new-harnessed champs the bit, Thou strivest and art restive to the rein. But all too feeble is the stratagem In which thou art so confident: for know That strong self-will is weak and less than nought In one more proud than wise. Bethink thee now— If these my words thou shouldest disregard— What storm, what might as of a great third wave Shall dash thy doom upon thee, past escape! First shall the Sire, with thunder and the flame Of lightning, rend the crags of this ravine, And in the shattered mass o’erwhelm thy form, Immured and morticed in a clasping rock. Thence, after age on age of durance done, Back to the daylight shall thou come, and there The eagle-hound of Zeus, red-ravening, fell With greed, shall tatter piecemeal all thy flesh To shreds and ragged vestiges of form— Yea, an unbidden guest, a day-long bane, That feeds, and feeds—yea, he shall gorge his fill On blackened fragments, from thy vitals gnawed. Look for no respite from that agony Until some other deity be found, Ready to bear for thee the brunt of doom, Choosing to pass into the lampless world Of Hades and the murky depths of hell. Hereat, advise thee! ’tis no feigned threat Whereof I warn thee, but an o’er-true tale. The lips of Zeus know nought of lying speech, But wreak in action all their words foretell. Therefore do thou look warily, and deem Prudence a better saviour than self-will.