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150 150 SOPHOCLES

Can equal money. This lays cities low,

This di'ives men forth from quiet dwelling-place,

This warps and changes minds of worthiest stamp,

To turn to deeds of baseness, teaching men

All shifts of cunning, and to know the guilt 330

Of every impious deed. But they who, hired,

Have wrought this crime, have laboured to their cost,

Or soon or late to pay the penalty.

But if Zeus still claims any awe from me,

Know this, and with an oath I tell it thee, 335

Unless ye find the very man whose hand

Has wrought this burial, and before mine eyes

Present him captive, death shall not suffice,

Till first, hung up still living, ye shall show

The story of this outrage, that henceforth, 340

Knowing what gain is lawful, ye may grasp

At that, and learn it is not meet to love

Gain from all quarters. By base profit won

You will see more destroyed than prospering.

Guard. May I then speak? Or shall I turn and go? 345

Creon. See'st not e'en yet how vexing are thy words ?

Guard. Is it thine ears they trouble, or thy soul ?

Creon. AVhy dost thou gauge my trouble where it is?

Guard. The doer grieves thy heart, but I thine ears.

Creon. Pshaw ! what a babbler, born to prate art thou ! 350

Guard. May be ; yet I this deed, at least, did not.

Creon. Yes, and for money ; selling e'en thy soul.

Guard. Ah me !

How dire it is, in thinking, false to think !