CRE. Ah me! what shall I do? whether am I to groan in weeping myself, or
the city, which a cloud of such magnitude encircles as to cast us amidst
the gloom of Acheron? For my son has perished having died for the city,
having achieved a glorious name, but to me a name of sorrow. Him having
taken just now from the dragon's den, stabbed by his own hand, I wretched
bore in my arms; and the whole house resounds with shrieks; but I, myself
aged, am come after my aged sister Jocasta, that she may wash and lay out
my son now no more. For it behooves the living well to revere the God below
by paying honors to the dead.
CHOR. Thy sister is gone out of the house, O Creon, and the girl Antigone
attending the steps of her mother.
CRE. Whither? and for what hap? tell me.
CHOR. She heard that her sons were about to come to a contest in single
battle for the royal palace.
CRE. How sayest thou? whilst I was fondly attending to my son's corse, I
arrived not so far _in knowledge_, as to be acquainted with this also.
CHOR. But thy sister has indeed been gone some time; but I think, O Creon,
that the contest, in which their lives are at stake, has already been
concluded by the sons of Œdipus.
CRE. Ah me! I see indeed this signal, the downcast eye and countenance of
the approaching messenger, who will relate every thing that has taken
place.