ANTIGONE.
Ismene, sister mine in blood and heart,
All woes that had their source in Oedipus
Zeus will bring on us yet before we die.
Nothing there is disastrous or accursed,
No blot of shame, no brand of infamy,
Which in our list of ills I reckon not.
What is this proclamation that I hear
The general has put forth to all the host?
Say, canst thou tell, or art thou ignorant
That those we hate are threat'ning those we love?
ISMENE.
To me, Antigone, no word has come
Either of joyful tidings or of bad
Since we of our two brothers were bereft,
Slain in one day, each by the other's hand.
Last night the Argive army marched away;
This much I know, and I know nothing more
To add to or abate our misery.