Creon
Such as thou wilt, place her who in the house
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Lies dead: so near allied, this office well
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Becomes thy care. But never may this town,
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Seat of my fathers, deign to let me live
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Within its walls: but suffer me to dwell
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On those wild mountains, my Cithæron call'd:
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My father and my mother, when alive,
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My tomb appointed there; there let me die,
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Where they design'd my death; for well I know
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That nor disease, nor aught besides to man
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Most hurtful, could destroy me; nor from death
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Had I been saved, but for some dreadful ill :
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Let my ill fate then go, where it will go.
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But I have children, Creon; on my sons
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Thy anxious care employ not; they are men,
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And never shall their lives, where'er they are,
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Feel the distress of pinching penury.
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But for my poor lamented daughters, left
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In virgin helplessness, from whom apart
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My table ne'er was spread, o'er whom has stream'd
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The sweet effusion of a father's love,
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Of them take tender care; and this warm wish
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Indulge me, let me touch them with my hands,
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And o'er them wail their ills: go then, Oking,
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Generous and noble by thy lineage, go :
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If with my hands I touch them, I shall think
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I hold them now, as when I look'd on them
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With eyes of fondness....Ah, am I deceived?
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Or near me my loved children do I hear,
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Hear I their grief? Now, Creon, by the gods,
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Didst thou in pity to the father send
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These dearest pledges to me? Speak I truth?
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Thou dost: thy former fondness well I knew,
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And my attention gave thee this delight.
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