Creon was blest in all that i count happiness he had

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Creon was blest in all that I count happiness; he had honor as our savior; power as our king; pride as the father of princely children. Now all is ended. For when a man is stripped of happiness, I count him not with the living—he is but a breathing corpse. Let a man have riches heaped in his house, and live in royal splendor; yet I would not give the shadow of a breath for all, if they bring no gladness. Chorus:What fearful news have you about our princes? Messenger:Death; and the living are guilty of the dead. Chorus:Who is the slayer—who is slain?790 Messenger:Haemon has perished, and it was no stranger shed his blood. Chorus:His father's hand, or his own? Messenger:His own, maddened by his father's crime. Chorus:0 prophet, how true your word has proved! Messenger:This is the way things are: consider then, how to act. Chorus:Look!—the unhappy Eurydice, Creon's consort, comes from the house; is it by chance, or has she heard these tidings of her son? 800 (Eurydice comes from the house.) Eurydice:I heard your words, citizens, as I was going to the shrine of Pallas with my prayers. As I loosed the bolts of the gate, the message of woe to my household smote my ear. I sank back, stricken with horror, into the arms of my handmaids, and my senses left me. Yet say again these tidings. I shall hear them as one who is no stranger to grief. Messenger:Dear lady,Iwill tell you whatIsaw,Iwill hide nothing of the truth. I would gladly tell you a happier tale, but it would soon be found out false. Truth is the only way.—I guided your lord the King to the furthest part of the plain,810 2Son of Zeus and Antiope; with his twin brother Zethus, he built the walls of Thebes. w h e r e the body of Polynices, torn by dogs, still lay unpitied. There we prayed to the goddess of the roads, and to Pluto,3in m e r c y to restrain their w r a t h . We w a s h e d the dead w i t h holy rites, and all that w a s left of the mortal man we burned w i t h fresh-plucked branches; and o v e r t h e ashes at last we raised a m o u n d of his native earth. That done, we turned our steps t o w a r d those f e a r s o m e caves w h e r e in a cold nuptial chamber, w i t h c o u c h of stone, that maiden had been given as a bride of Death. But f r o m afar off, one of us heard a voice wailing aloud, and turned to 820 tell our master Creon. A n d as the King d r e w nearer, the sharp anguish of broken cries c a m e to his ears. Then he groaned and said like one in pain, "Can my sudden fear be true? Am I on the saddest road I ever w e n t ? That voice is my son's! Hurry, my servants, to the tomb, and through the gap w h e r e the stones have been torn out, look into the c e l l — t e l l me if it is Haemon's voice I hear, or if my w i t s are tortured by the gods." At these w o r d s f r o m our stricken master, we w e n t to make that search; and in the dim furthest part of the t o m b we s a w 830 Antigone hanging by the neck, her scarf of fine linen t w i s t e d into a cruel noose. And there too we s a w H a e m o n — h i s arms

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