Creon
The virgin draws, to ills untaught to yield. 1:
But know, the vauntings of the fiercest pride
Sink most: the strong steel rigid from the flames
Through its hard temper brittle may'st thou see,
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And soonest shiver'd; the most fiery steed
With a small curb oft govern'd have I known.
Ill suits the arrogant presumptuous mind...
Those that are slaves to others. Then she learn'd
This insult, when she overleap'd the laws
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Which had the sanction of authority.
And having done the deed, she further adds
Fresh insult, glories in the bold attempt,
And proudly laughs. But I am not a man,
She is the man, if this audacious act
Passes unpunish'd. Though she boasts her birth,
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The daughter of my sister, were she sprung
From one more near than all whom Hercian Jove
Hath to my blood allied, not e’en those ties
Should save her from the rigour of her fate;
No, nor her sister ; for with equal guilt
Her too I charge, associate to entomb
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This corse. But call her hither; late I saw
Within her raving and distracted mood. ®
The guileful mind, that forms its base designs
In darkness, oft such fits of frenzy seize.
But I detest the wretch, who tries to dress,
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When caught, his villanies in virtue’s garb.
Antigone. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.