POLYNEICES.
What would’st thou, sweet Antigone? Say on.
ANTIGONE.
Turn back thy host to Argos with all speed,
And ruin not thyself and Thebes as well.
POLYNEICES.
That cannot be. How could I lead again
An army that had seen their leader quail?
ANTIGONE.
But, brother, why shouldst thou be wroth again?
What profit from thy country’s ruin comes?
POLYNEICES.
’Tis shame to live in exile, and shall I
The elder bear a younger brother’s flouts?
ANTIGONE.
Wilt thou then bring to pass his prophecies
Who threatens mutual slaughter to you both?
POLYNEICES.
Aye, so he wishes:—but I must not yield.
ANTIGONE.
O woe is me! but say, will any dare,
Hearing his prophecy, to follow thee?
POLYNEICES.
I shall not tell it; a good general
Reports successes and conceals mishaps.
ANTIGONE.
Misguided youth, thy purpose then stands fast!