酷兔英语

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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 gods by leaving here
A corpse unlaved, unwept, unsepulchered.

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

For this the avenging spirits of Heaven and Hell
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 smittengrievously.
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 gods

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 God 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 Bacchanals 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 shores with clustered 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 Parnassian 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 noble 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 circumstance 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 pass.

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.
Comes she by chance or learning her son's fate?

[Enter EURYDICE]
EURYDICE

Ye men of Thebes, I overheard your talk.
As I passed out to offer up my prayer

To Pallas, and was drawing back the bar
To open wide the door, upon my ears

There broke a wail that told of household woe
Stricken with terror in my handmaids' arms

I fell and fainted. But repeat your tale
To one not unacquaint with misery.

MESSENGER
Dear mistress, I was there and will relate

The perfect truth, omitting not one word.
Why should we gloze and flatter, to be proved

Liars hereafter? Truth is ever best.
Well, in attendance on my liege, your lord,

I crossed the plain to its utmostmargin, where
The corse of Polyneices, gnawn and mauled,

Was lying yet. We offered first a prayer
To Pluto and the goddess of cross-ways,

With contrite hearts, to deprecate their ire.
Then laved with lustral waves the mangled corse,

Laid it on fresh-lopped branches, lit a pyre,
And to his memory piled a mighty mound

Of mother earth. Then to the caverned rock,


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