Prometheus

[…]For a while there was a tense silence. Violence’s looks grew darker and darker and it was clear that he could hardly contain his impatience. Fora long time Hephaestus ignored him, then, finally, and with a deep groan, he picked up his hammer and began work.
“Strike harder!” shouted Violence. “Drive the chains deep into the rock!” The solid rock rang and all the Caucasus shuddered beneath the fearful blows of the blacksmith of the gods. His hammering echoed through the world like thunder. Now Prometheus was bound to the rock with iron chains so strong that not even Hephaestus himself could break them.
“And now the nail!” cried Violence. “Plunge it into his chest and pin him to the rock!”
And that, too, was done. The whole mountain groaned as if the lifeless rock itself were in agony, yet not a sound escaped the lips of the unflinching titan. Proud and erect, he endured the frightful torture to the end, and all the while his gaze was fixed upon some distant horizon, far, far away beyond the storm-tossed sea — where men lived and worked.[…]