CHORUS.
Little wisdom hath the man
That would over-live his span.
Length of days brings many a moan
When life's prime is past and gone;
But of pleasures, never a one.
Then all alike from dole to save,
Comes the dark and cheerless grave.
Not to be is happiest;
Next with speed to part is best.
Bloodshed, battle, hatred, strife,
Youth with all these ills is rife.
Then comes the last, the dreariest stage,
Sour, companionless old age.
* * * * *
THE END OF OEDIPUS.
LINES 1579-1667.
MESSENGER. (To the CHORUS.)
Brief is the speech, my fellow-citizens,
Needed to tell that Oedipus is dead;
But a brief speech will not suffice to give
A full account of all that there befell.
CHORUS.
His life of sorrow then has found its end.