ANT. O Heavens! What shall I say, what think, my father?
OED. Daughter Antigone, what is it?
ANT. I see
A woman coming toward us, mounted well
On a fair Sicilian palfrey, and her face
With brow-defending hood of Thessaly
Is shadowed from the sun. What must I think?
Is it she or no? Can the eye so far deceive?
[page 270][317-346] It is. ’Tis not. Unhappy that I am,
I know not.—Yes, ’tis she. For drawing near
She greets me with bright glances, and declares
Beyond a doubt, Ismene’s self is here.
OED. What say’st thou, daughter?
ANT. That I see thy child,
My sister. Soon her voice will make thee sure.
Enter ISMENE.
ISMENE. Father and sister!—names for ever dear!
Hard hath it been to find you, yea, and hard
I feel it now to look on you for grief.
OED. Child, art thou here?
ISM. Father! O sight of pain!
OED. Offspring and sister!