ANT. It was his brother, not a slave, who fell.
CR. But laying waste the land for which he fought.
ANT. Death knows no difference, but demands his due.
CR. Yet not equality ’twixt good and bad.
ANT. Both may be equal yonder; who can tell?
CR. An enemy is hated even in death.
ANT. Love, and not hatred, is the part for me.
CR. Down then to death! and, if you must, there love
The dead. No woman rules me while I live.
CH. Now comes Ismenè forth. Ah, see,
From clouds above her brow
The sister-loving tear
Is falling wet on her fair cheek,
Distaining all her passion-crimson’d face!
Enter ISMENE.