Him here in person, here before my eyes,
Or death shall be too light a purishment,
But first, hung up alive, you shall disclose
The truth about this outrage, that next time
With better knowledge you may go
To get your lucre, and may learn that gold
Is not to be obtained from every source,
How much so e’er you love the touch of gold.
You'll learn that more are brought to woe and pain,
Than happiness by their ill-gotten gain.
Watchman. I ’ve leave to speak? Or must I turn and go?
Creon. Do you not see your speech offends. me much?
Watchman. Pierced in the heart, or only in the ear?
Creon. Why should you mark where my displeasure lies?
Watchman. The doer pains your heart, and I your ears.
Creon. Pah! What a natural spendthrift of his tongue.
Watchman. Perhaps, but I did not the deed you charge.
Creon. You did, I know, and sold yourself for gold.
Watchman. To think so good a judge should judge amiss!
Creon. Deliver judgments on my judgment, glib
Of tongue,—but if the culprits in this deed
You do not soon produce, you ’ll soon affirm
That treacherous gains bring punishment to rogues.
Watchman. May he be found!—None hopes it more than I.
But found or not—for chance will settle that—
One thing is sure: you ’ll never catch me here.
For I, e’en now escaped beyond all hope
And expectation, deeply thank the gods.
CHORUS.
FIRST STROPHE.
Wonders are manifold;
Nothing so wondrous as Man!
He it is that is bold
Mid the surges high to sail,
Blown by the stormy gale,
