Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/266

168 And learn to keep his tongue more orderly,

With better thoughts than this his present mood.

[Exit.

Chor. The man has gone, Ο king, predicting woe,

And well we know, since first our raven hair

Was mixed with grey, that never yet his words

Were uttered to our State and failed of truth.

Creon. I know it too, 'tis that that troubles me.

To yield is hard, but, holding out, to smite

One's soul with sorrow, this is harder still.

Chor. We need wise counsel, Ο Menœkeus' son.

Creon. What shall I do? Speak thou, and I [sic]'ll obey.

Chor. Go then, and free the maiden from her tomb,

And give a grave to him who lies exposed.

Creon. Is this thy counsel? Dost thou bid me yield?

Chor. Without delay, Ο king, for lo! they come,

The Gods' swift-footed ministers of ill,

And in an instant lay the self-willed low.

Creon. Ah me! 'tis hard; and yet I bend my will

To do thy bidding. With necessity

We must not fight at such o'erwhelming odds.

Chor. Go then and act! Commit it not to others.

Creon. E'en as I am I [sic]'ll go. Come, come, my men,

Present or absent, come, and in your hands

Bring axes: come to yonder eminence.

And I, since now my judgment leans that way,

Who myself bound her, now myself will loose,

Too much I fear lest it should wisest prove

Maintaining ancient laws to end my life. [Exit.

Chor. Ο Thou of many names,