167 Eur. What then shall be thy lot?—
Eternal torments, baths of boiling sulphur,
Vicissitudes of fires, and then of frosts;
And an old guardian fiend, ugly as thou art,
To hollow in thy ears at every lash,—
This for Eurydice; these for her Adrastus!
Cre. For her Adrastus!
Eur. Yes; for her Adrastus:
For death shall ne'er divide us: Death? what's death!
Dioc. You seemed to fear it.
Eur. But I more fear Creon:
To take that hunch-backed monster in my arms!
The excrescence of a man!
Dioc. to Cre. See what you've gained.
Eur. Death only can be dreadful to the bad:
To innocence, 'tis like a bug-bear dressed
To frighten children; pull but off his masque,
And he'll appear a friend.
Cre. You talk too slightly
Of death and hell. Let me inform you better.
Eur. You best can tell the news of your own country.
Dioc. Nay, now you are too sharp.