Did'st thou pluck out thine eyes. Let now thy brain180
Feel those avenging fingers; through this door
Complete the death which has begun in me.
Antigone: O father, great of soul, I pray thee hear
With quiet mind thy wretched daughter's words:
I do not seek to lead thee back again
Into the presence of thy former home,
Nor to the illustrious splendor of thy realm;185
I ask thee not with calm and peaceful soul
To bear again that fearful shock of woe