Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/273

Rh Thou diest, thou art gone,

Not by thine evil counsel, but by mine.

Chor. Ah me! Too late thou seem'st to see the right.

Creon. Ah me!

I learn the grievous lesson. On my head,

God, pressing sore, hath smitten me and vexed,

In ways most rough and terrible, (Ah me!)

Shattering my joy, as trampled under foot.

Woe! woe! Man's labours are but labour lost.

Sec. Mess. My master! thou, as one who hast full store,

One source of sorrow bearest in thine arms,

And others in thy house, too soon, it seems,

Thou need'st must come and see.

Creon. And what remains

Worse evil than the evils that we bear?

Sec. Mess. Thy wife is dead, that corpse's mother true,

Ill starred one, smitten with a blow just dealt.

Creon. Ο agony!

Haven of Death, that none may pacify,

Why dost thou thus destroy me?

[Turning to Messenger.] Ο thou who comest, bringing in thy train

Woes horrible to tell,

Thou tramplest on a man already slain.

What say'st thou? What new tidings bring'st to me?

Ah me! ah me!

Is it that now there waits in store for me

My own wife's death to crown my misery?