Oft evil seems good to the vain
Whom the god leadeth on to bane,
Blind and deaf, hath not seen, hath not heard,
And lo!
Into mischief and woe
He plunges entire.
Chorus. But look where Hæmon, of thy sons
The last and youngest, yonder comes.
Is he lamenting,
In anguish resenting
The fraud, Antigone’s ’spousal denied,
The cruel doom of his promised bride.
Creon. We soon shall know more sure than seers can tell.
My son, thou ’rt certainly not come in rage
Against thy father, hearing our just doom
Irrevocable passed on thy betrothed?
Or are we dear to thee, do what we may?
Hæmon. Thou art my father; rules that thou dost give
For my direction, I obey, for thy
Good guidance I esteem a greater gain
To me than any marriage I could make.
Creon. Ay, this, my son, should ever be thy thought,
To let thy father’s will in all come first.
For this men, pray to rear within their homes
The children born to them all dutiful,
That they pay back in kind their father’s foe,
Their father’s friend such equal honer’ show.
But he to whom is born a worthless child,
What else hath he but trouble for himself
Begot and exultation for his foes?
Therefore, my son, let not a woman’s charm
Allure thee so that mere desire for her
Will cast thy reason out, for be assured
An evil woman in thy home to share
Thy bed affords a chill embrace. What sore
More ulcerous and painful far can be
Than this—a faithless friend. O cast away
