ANTIGONE.
Be of good cheer, thou livest; but my soul
Is with the dead, to whom my care is due.
CREON.
Of these two sisters, one, it seems to me,
Has lost her wits, and one was witless born.
ISMENE.
O Prince, the reason that is born in us
Abides not in the wretched, but departs.
CREON.
From thee it fled when thou didst share her crime.
ISMENE.
Without this maiden what can life be worth?