150 SOPHOCLES
Can equal money. This lays cities low,
This di'ives men forth from quiet dwelling-place,
This warps and changes minds of worthiest stamp,
To turn to deeds of baseness, teaching men
All shifts of cunning, and to know the guilt 330
Of every impious deed. But they who, hired,
Have wrought this crime, have laboured to their cost,
Or soon or late to pay the penalty.
But if Zeus still claims any awe from me,
Know this, and with an oath I tell it thee, 335
Unless ye find the very man whose hand
Has wrought this burial, and before mine eyes
Present him captive, death shall not suffice,
Till first, hung up still living, ye shall show
The story of this outrage, that henceforth, 340
Knowing what gain is lawful, ye may grasp
At that, and learn it is not meet to love
Gain from all quarters. By base profit won
You will see more destroyed than prospering.
Guard. May I then speak? Or shall I turn and go? 345
Creon. See'st not e'en yet how vexing are thy words ?
Guard. Is it thine ears they trouble, or thy soul ?
Creon. AVhy dost thou gauge my trouble where it is?
Guard. The doer grieves thy heart, but I thine ears.
Creon. Pshaw ! what a babbler, born to prate art thou ! 350
Guard. May be ; yet I this deed, at least, did not.
Creon. Yes, and for money ; selling e'en thy soul.
Guard. Ah me !
How dire it is, in thinking, false to think !
