Creon: A plague on thee and thy accursed bride!
Chorus: What, wilt thou rob thine own son of his bride?
Creon: ’Tis death that bars this marriage, not his sire.
Chorus: So her death-warrant, it would seem, is sealed.
Creon: By you, as first by me; off with them, guards, And keep them close. Henceforward let them learn To live as women use, not roam at large. For e’en the bravest spirits run away When they perceive death pressing on life’s heels.
Chorus: Strophe 1
Thrice blest are they who never tasted pain! If once the curse of Heaven attaint a race, The infection lingers on and speeds apace, Age after age, and each the cup must drain.
So when Etesian blasts from Thrace downpour Sweep o’er the blackening main and whirl to land From Ocean’s cavernous depths his ooze and sand, Billow on billow thunders on the shore.
Antistrophe 1
On the Labdacidae I see descending Woe upon woe; from days of old some god Laid on the race a malison, and his rod Scourges each age with sorrows never ending.
The light that dawned upon its last born son Is vanished, and the bloody axe of Fate Has felled the goodly tree that blossomed late. O Oedipus, by reckless pride undone!
Strophe 2
Thy might, O Zeus, what mortal power can quell? Not sleep that lays all else beneath its spell, Nor moons that never tire: untouched by Time, Throned in the dazzling light That crowns Olympus’ height, Thou reignest King, omnipotent, sublime.
Past, present, and to be, All bow to thy decree, All that exceeds the mean by Fate Is punished, Love or Hate.
Antistrophe 2
Hope flits about never-wearying wings; Profit to some, to some light loves she brings, But no man knoweth how her gifts may turn, Till ’neath his feet the treacherous ashes burn. Sure ’twas a sage inspired that spake this word; If evil good appear To any, Fate is near; And brief the respite from her flaming sword.
Hither comes in angry mood Haemon, latest of thy brood; Is it for his bride he’s grieved, Or her marriage-bed deceived, Doth he make his mourn for thee, Maid forlorn, Antigone?
Enter Haemon.
Creon: Soon shall we know, better than seer can tell. Learning may fixed decree anent thy bride, Thou mean’st not, son, to rave against thy sire? Know’st not whate’er we do is done in love?
Haemon: O father, I am thine, and I will take Thy wisdom as the helm to steer withal. Therefore no wedlock shall by me be held More precious than thy loving goverance.
Creon: Well spoken: so right-minded sons should feel, In all deferring to a father’s will. For ’tis the hope of parents they may rear A brood of sons submissive, keen to avenge Their father’s wrongs, and count his friends their own. But who begets unprofitable sons, He verily breeds trouble for himself, And for his foes much laughter. Son, be warned And let no woman fool away thy wits.
Ill fares the husband mated with a shrew, And her embraces very soon wax cold. For what can wound so surely to the quick As a false friend? So spue and cast her off, Bid her go find a husband with the dead. For since I caught her openly rebelling, Of all my subjects the one malcontent, I will not prove a traitor to the State. She surely dies. Go, let her, if she will,
Appeal to Zeus the God of Kindred, for If thus I nurse rebellion in my house, Shall not I foster mutiny without? For whoso rules his household worthily, Will prove in civic matters no less wise. But he who overbears the laws, or thinks To overrule his rulers, such an one I never will allow. Whome’er the State Appoints must be obeyed in everything,
But small and great, just and unjust alike. I warrant such a one in either case Would shine, as King or subject; such a man Would in the storm of battle stand his ground, A comrade leal and true; but Anarchy— What evils are not wrought by Anarchy! She ruins States, and overthrows the home, She dissipates and routs the embattled host; While discipline preserves the ordered ranks.
Therefore we must maintain authority And yield to tittle to a woman’s will. Better, if needs be, men should cast us out Than hear it said, a woman proved his match.