178 SOPHOCLES
Creon. Old man, as archers aiming at their mark, So ye shoot forth your venomed darts at me ; mi
I know your augur's tricks, and by your tribe Long since am tricked and sokl. Yes, gain your
gains, Get Sardis' amber metal, Indian gold ; That corpse ye shall not hide in any tomb. uis
Not though the eagles, birds of Zeus, should bear Their carrion morsels to the throne of God, Not even fearing this pollution dire, "Will I consent to burial. AVell I know That man is powerless to pollute the Gods. 1120
But many fall, Teiresias, dotard old, A shameful fall, who gloze their shameful words For lucre's sake, with surface show of good.
Teiresias. Ah me ! Does no man know, does none
consider . . . Creon. Consider what ? What trite poor saw comes now? 1125
Teiresias. How far good counsel is of all things best ? Creon. So far, I trow, as folly is worst ill. Teiresias. Of that disease thy soul, alas ! is full. Creon. I will not meet a seer with evil words. Teiresias. Thou dost so, saying I divine with lies. Creon. The race of seers is ever fond of gold. U3i Teiresias. And that of tyrants still loves lucre foul. Creon. Dost know thou speak'st thy words of
those that rule ? Teiresias. I know. Through me thou rul'st a city
saved. Creon. Wise seer art thou, yet given o'ermuch to wrong. 1135
Teiresias. Thou 'It stir me to speak out my soul's dread secrets.
