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 G.o.ds by leaving here A corpse unlaved, unwept, unsepulchered.

Herein thou hast no part, nor e'en the G.o.ds In heaven; and thou usurp'st a power not thine.

For this the avenging spirits of Heaven and h.e.l.l 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.d 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 Baccha.n.a.ls 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 sh.o.r.es with cl.u.s.tered 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 Parna.s.sian 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 n.o.ble 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 circ.u.mstance 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 pa.s.s.

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.