Page:Sophocles (Storr 1912) v1.djvu/297

 I dare not whisper it to my allies

Or turn them back, but mute must meet my doom

My sisters, ye his daughters, ye have heard

The prayers of our stern father, if his curse

Should come to pass and ye some day return

To Thebes, O then disown me not, I pray,

But grant me burial and due funeral rites.

So shall the praise your filial care now wins

Be doubled for the service wrought for me.

One boon, O Polyneices, let me crave.

What would’st thou, sweet Antigone? Say on.

Turn back thy host to Argos with all speed,

And ruin not thyself and Thebes as well.

That cannot be. How could I lead again

An army that had seen their leader quail?

But, brother, why shouldst thou be wroth again?

What profit from thy country’s ruin comes?

’Tis shame to live in exile, and shall I

The elder bear a younger brother’s flouts?

Wilt thou then bring to pass his prophecies

Who threatens mutual slaughter to you both? 275