CHORUS.
I know not, but strained silence, so I deem,
Is no less ominous than excessive grief.
MESSENGER.
Well, let us to the house and solve our doubts,
Whether the tumult of her heart conceals
Some fell design. It may be thou art right:
Unnatural silence signifies no good.
CHORUS.
Lo! the King himself appears.
Evidence he with him bears
’Gainst himself (ah me! I quake
’Gainst a king such charge to make)
But all must own,
The guilt is his and his alone.
CREON.
(Str. 1)
Woe for sin of minds perverse,
Deadly fraught with mortal curse.
Behold us slain and slayers, all akin.
Woe for my counsel dire, conceived in sin.
Alas, my son,
Life scarce begun,
Thou wast undone.
The fault was mine, mine only, O my son!
CHORUS.
Too late thou seemest to perceive the truth.
CREON.
(Str. 2)
By sorrow schooled. Heavy the hand of God,
Thorny and rough the paths my feet have trod,
Humbled my pride, my pleasure turned to pain;
Poor mortals, how we labor all in vain!
[Enter SECOND MESSENGER]
SECOND MESSENGER.
Sorrows are thine, my lord, and more to come,
One lying at thy feet, another yet
More grievous waits thee, when thou comest home.
CREON.
What woe is lacking to my tale of woes?
SECOND MESSENGER.
Thy wife, the mother of thy dead son here,
Lies stricken by a fresh inflicted blow.
CREON.
(Ant. 1)
How bottomless the pit!
Does claim me too, O Death?
What is this word he saith,
This woeful messenger? Say, is it fit
To slay anew a man already slain?
Is Death at work again,
Stroke upon stroke, first son, then mother slain?