MIGHT.

To work! A truce to these weak wails of ruth.
Whom the gods hate why dost thou not abhor--
Him that betrayed thy attribute to man?

HEPHAESTUS.

Great force have kindred and companionship.

MIGHT.

True, but to disobey the Almighty Sire
How canst thou dare? Fearest thou not this more?

HEPHAESTUS.

Relentless still and pitiless art thou.

MIGHT.

Thy wailings are no medicines for his woes;
Then waste no pains on that which profits naught.

HEPHAESTUS.

O thrice accurs'd this master-craft of mine!

MIGHT.