ANTIGONE. Woe-wearied father, yonder city’s wall
That shields her, looks far distant; but this ground
Is surely sacred, thickly planted over
With olive, bay and vine, within whose bowers
Thick-fluttering song-birds make sweet melody.
Here then repose thee on this unhewn stone.
Thou hast travelled far to-day for one so old.
OED. Seat me, my child, and be the blind man’s guard.
ANT. Long time hath well instructed me in that.
OED. Now, canst thou tell me where we have set our feet?
ANT. Athens I know, but not the nearer ground.
OED. Ay, every man that met us in the way
Named Athens.
ANT. Shall I go, then, and find out
The name of the spot?
OED. Yes, if ’tis habitable.
ANT. It is inhabited. Yet I need not go.
I see a man even now approaching here.
[page 262][30-59] OED. How? Makes he towards us? Is he drawing nigh?