CREON Old man, ye all let fly at me your shafts Like anchors at a target; yea, ye set Your soothsayer on me. Peddlers are ye all And I the merchandise ye buy and sell. Go to, and make your profit where ye will, Silver of Sardis change for gold of Ind; Ye will not purchase this man's burial, Not though the winged ministers of Zeus Should bear him in their talons to his throne; Not e'en in awe of prodigy so dire Would I permit his burial, for I know No human soilure can assail the gods; This too I know, Teiresias, dire's the fall Of craft and cunning when it tries to gloss Foul treachery with fair words for filthy gain.

TEIRESIAS Alas! doth any know and lay to heart—

CREON Is this the prelude to some hackneyed saw?

TEIRESIAS How far good counsel is the best of goods?

CREON True, as unwisdom is the worst of ills.

TEIRESIAS Thou art infected with that ill thyself.

CREON I will not bandy insults with thee, seer.

TEIRESIAS And yet thou say'st my prophesies are frauds.

CREON Prophets are all a money-getting tribe.

TEIRESIAS And kings are all a lucre-loving race.

CREON Dost know at whom thou glancest, me thy lord?

TEIRESIAS Lord of the State and savior, thanks to me.

CREON Skilled prophet art thou, but to wrong inclined.

TEIRESIAS Take heed, thou wilt provoke me to reveal The mystery deep hidden in my breast.

CREON Say on, but see it be not said for gain.

TEIRESIAS Such thou, methinks, till now hast judged my words.

CREON Be sure thou wilt not traffic on my wits.

TEIRESIAS Know then for sure, the coursers of the sun Not many times shall run their race, before Thou shalt have given the fruit of thine own loins In quittance of thy murder, life for life; For that thou hast entombed a living soul, And sent below a denizen of earth, And wronged the nether gods by leaving here A corpse unlaved, unwept, unsepulchered. Herein thou hast no part, nor e'en the gods In heaven; and thou usurp'st a power not thine. For this the avenging spirits of Heaven and Hell Who dog the steps of sin are on thy trail: What these have suffered thou shalt suffer too. And now, consider whether bought by gold I prophesy. For, yet a little while, And sound of lamentation shall be heard, Of men and women through thy desolate halls; And all thy neighbor States are leagues to avenge Their mangled warriors who have found a grave I' the maw of wolf or hound, or winged bird That flying homewards taints their city's air. These are the shafts, that like a bowman I Provoked to anger, loosen at thy breast, Unerring, and their smart thou shalt not shun. Boy, lead me home, that he may vent his spleen On younger men, and learn to curb his tongue With gentler manners than his present mood. [Exit TEIRESIAS]

CHORUS My liege, that man hath gone, foretelling woe. And, O believe me, since these grizzled locks Were like the raven, never have I known The prophet's warning to the State to fail.

CREON I know it too, and it perplexes me. To yield is grievous, but the obstinate soul That fights with Fate, is smitten grievously.

CHORUS Son of Menoeceus, list to good advice.

CHORUS What should I do. Advise me. I will heed.

CHORUS Go, free the maiden from her rocky cell; And for the unburied outlaw build a tomb.

CREON Is that your counsel? You would have me yield?

CHORUS Yea, king, this instant. Vengeance of the gods Is swift to overtake the impenitent.

CREON Ah! what a wrench it is to sacrifice My heart's resolve; but Fate is ill to fight.

CHORUS Go, trust not others. Do it quick thyself.

CREON I go hot-foot. Bestir ye one and all, My henchmen! Get ye axes! Speed away To yonder eminence! I too will go, For all my resolution this way sways. 'Twas I that bound, I too will set her free. Almost I am persuaded it is best To keep through life the law ordained of old. [Exit CREON]

CHORUS (Str. 1) Thou by many names adored, Child of Zeus the God of thunder, Of a Theban bride the wonder, Fair Italia's guardian lord;

In the deep-embosomed glades Of the Eleusinian Queen Haunt of revelers, men and maids, Dionysus, thou art seen.

Where Ismenus rolls his waters, Where the Dragon's teeth were sown, Where the Bacchanals thy daughters Round thee roam, There thy home; Thebes, O Bacchus, is thine own.

(Ant. 1) Thee on the two-crested rock Lurid-flaming torches see; Where Corisian maidens flock, Thee the springs of Castaly.

By Nysa's bastion ivy-clad, By shores with clustered vineyards glad, There to thee the hymn rings out, And through our streets we Thebans shout, All hall to thee Evoe, Evoe!

(Str. 2) Oh, as thou lov'st this city best of all, To thee, and to thy Mother levin-stricken, In our dire need we call; Thou see'st with what a plague our townsfolk sicken. Thy ready help we crave, Whether adown Parnassian heights descending, Or o'er the roaring straits thy swift was wending, Save us, O save!

(Ant. 2) Brightest of all the orbs that breathe forth light, Authentic son of Zeus, immortal king, Leader of all the voices of the night, Come, and thy train of Thyiads with thee bring, Thy maddened rout Who dance before thee all night long, and shout, Thy handmaids we, Evoe, Evoe!

[Enter MESSENGER]

MESSENGER Attend all ye who dwell beside the halls Of Cadmus and Amphion. No man's life As of one tenor would I praise or blame, For Fortune with a constant ebb and rise Casts down and raises high and low alike, And none can read a mortal's horoscope. Take Creon; he, methought, if any man, Was enviable. He had saved this land Of Cadmus from our enemies and attained A monarch's powers and ruled the state supreme, While a right noble issue crowned his bliss. Now all is gone and wasted, for a life Without life's joys I count a living death. You'll tell me he has ample store of wealth, The pomp and circumstance of kings; but if These give no pleasure, all the rest I count The shadow of a shade, nor would I weigh His wealth and power 'gainst a dram of joy.

CHORUS What fresh woes bring'st thou to the royal house?

MESSENGER Both dead, and they who live deserve to die.

CHORUS Who is the slayer, who the victim? speak.

MESSENGER Haemon; his blood shed by no stranger hand.

CHORUS What mean ye? by his father's or his own?

MESSENGER His own; in anger for his father's crime.

CHORUS O prophet, what thou spakest comes to pass.

MESSENGER So stands the case; now 'tis for you to act.

CHORUS Lo! from the palace gates I see approaching Creon's unhappy wife, Eurydice. Comes she by chance or learning her son's fate? [Enter EURYDICE]

EURYDICE Ye men of Thebes, I overheard your talk. As I passed out to offer up my prayer To Pallas, and was drawing back the bar To open wide the door, upon my ears There broke a wail that told of household woe Stricken with terror in my handmaids' arms I fell and fainted. But repeat your tale To one not unacquaint with misery.

MESSENGER Dear mistress, I was there and will relate The perfect truth, omitting not one word. Why should we gloze and flatter, to be proved Liars hereafter? Truth is ever best. Well, in attendance on my liege, your lord, I crossed the plain to its utmost margin, where The corse of Polyneices, gnawn and mauled, Was lying yet. We offered first a prayer To Pluto and the goddess of cross-ways, With contrite hearts, to deprecate their ire. Then laved with lustral waves the mangled corse, Laid it on fresh-lopped branches, lit a pyre, And to his memory piled a mighty mound Of mother earth. Then to the caverned rock, The bridal chamber of the maid and Death, We sped, about to enter. But a guard Heard from that godless shrine a far shrill wail, And ran back to our lord to tell the news. But as he nearer drew a hollow sound Of lamentation to the King was borne. He groaned and uttered then this bitter plaint: "Am I a prophet? miserable me! Is this the saddest path I ever trod? 'Tis my son's voice that calls me. On press on, My henchmen, haste with double speed to the tomb Where rocks down-torn have made a gap, look in And tell me if in truth I recognize The voice of Haemon or am heaven-deceived." So at the bidding of our distraught lord We looked, and in the craven's vaulted gloom I saw the maiden lying strangled there, A noose of linen twined about her neck; And hard beside her, clasping her cold form, Her lover lay bewailing his dead bride Death-wedded, and his father's cruelty. When the King saw him, with a terrible groan He moved towards him, crying, "O my son What hast thou done? What ailed thee? What mischance Has reft thee of thy reason? O come forth, Come forth, my son; thy father supplicates." But the son glared at him with tiger eyes, Spat in his face, and then, without a word, Drew his two-hilted sword and smote, but missed His father flying backwards. Then the boy, Wroth with himself, poor wretch, incontinent Fell on his sword and drove it through his side Home, but yet breathing clasped in his lax arms The maid, her pallid cheek incarnadined With his expiring gasps. So there they lay Two corpses, one in death. His marriage rites Are consummated in the halls of Death: A witness that of ills whate'er befall Mortals' unwisdom is the worst of all. [Exit EURYDICE]

CHORUS What makest thou of this? The Queen has gone Without a word importing good or ill.

MESSENGER I marvel too, but entertain good hope. 'Tis that she shrinks in public to lament Her son's sad ending, and in privacy Would with her maidens mourn a private loss. Trust me, she is discreet and will not err.

CHORUS I know not, but strained silence, so I deem, Is no less ominous than excessive grief.

MESSENGER Well, let us to the house and solve our doubts, Whether the tumult of her heart conceals Some fell design. It may be thou art right: Unnatural silence signifies no good.

CHORUS Lo! the King himself appears. Evidence he with him bears 'Gainst himself (ah me! I quake 'Gainst a king such charge to make) But all must own, The guilt is his and his alone.

CREON (Str. 1) Woe for sin of minds perverse, Deadly fraught with mortal curse. Behold us slain and slayers, all akin. Woe for my counsel dire, conceived in sin. Alas, my son, Life scarce begun, Thou wast undone. The fault was mine, mine only, O my son!

CHORUS Too late thou seemest to perceive the truth.

CREON (Str. 2) By sorrow schooled. Heavy the hand of God, Thorny and rough the paths my feet have trod, Humbled my pride, my pleasure turned to pain; Poor mortals, how we labor all in vain! [Enter SECOND MESSENGER]

SECOND MESSENGER Sorrows are thine, my lord, and more to come, One lying at thy feet, another yet More grievous waits thee, when thou comest home.

CREON What woe is lacking to my tale of woes?

SECOND MESSENGER Thy wife, the mother of thy dead son here, Lies stricken by a fresh inflicted blow.

CREON (Ant. 1) How bottomless the pit! Does claim me too, O Death? What is this word he saith, This woeful messenger? Say, is it fit To slay anew a man already slain? Is Death at work again, Stroke upon stroke, first son, then mother slain?

CHORUS Look for thyself. She lies for all to view.

CREON (Ant. 2) Alas! another added woe I see. What more remains to crown my agony? A minute past I clasped a lifeless son, And now another victim Death hath won. Unhappy mother, most unhappy son!

SECOND MESSENGER Beside the altar on a keen-edged sword She fell and closed her eyes in night, but erst She mourned for Megareus who nobly died Long since, then for her son; with her last breath She cursed thee, the slayer of her child.

CREON (Str. 3) I shudder with affright O for a two-edged sword to slay outright A wretch like me, Made one with misery.

SECOND MESSENGER 'Tis true that thou wert charged by the dead Queen As author of both deaths, hers and her son's.

CREON In what wise was her self-destruction wrought?

SECOND MESSENGER Hearing the loud lament above her son With her own hand she stabbed herself to the heart.

CREON (Str. 4) I am the guilty cause. I did the deed, Thy murderer. Yea, I guilty plead. My henchmen, lead me hence, away, away, A cipher, less than nothing; no delay!

CHORUS Well said, if in disaster aught is well His past endure demand the speediest cure.

CREON (Ant. 3) Come, Fate, a friend at need, Come with all speed! Come, my best friend, And speed my end! Away, away! Let me not look upon another day!

CHORUS This for the morrow; to us are present needs That they whom it concerns must take in hand.

CREON I join your prayer that echoes my desire.

CHORUS O pray not, prayers are idle; from the doom Of fate for mortals refuge is there none.

CREON (Ant. 4) Away with me, a worthless wretch who slew Unwitting thee, my son, thy mother too. Whither to turn I know now; every way Leads but astray, And on my head I feel the heavy weight Of crushing Fate.

CHORUS Of happiness the chiefest part Is a wise heart: And to defraud the gods in aught With peril's fraught. Swelling words of high-flown might Mightily the gods do smite. Chastisement for errors past Wisdom brings to age at last.

THE END