ANTIGONE 187
Seeing Creon approaching with the corpse of Haemon in his arms.
Chorus. Aud lo ! the king himself is drawing nigh, And in his hands he bears a record clear, 1350
No woe (if I may speak) by others caused, Himself the great offender.
Enter Creon, bearing Haemon's body.
Creon. Woe ! for the sins of souls of evil mood,
Stern, mighty to destroy ! Ο ye who look on those of kindred race, 1355
The slayers and the slain. Woe for mine own rash plans that prosper not ! Woe for thee, son ; but new in life's career. And by a new fate dying !
Woe ! woe ! iseo
Thou diest, thou art gone, Not by thine evil counsel, but by mine.
Chorus. Ah me ! Too late thou seem'st to see the
right. Creon. Ah me !
I learn the grievous lesson. On my head, God, pressing sore, hath smitten me and vexed, ises In ways most rough and terrible (ah me !), Shattering my joy, as trampled under foot. Woe ! woe ! Man's labors are but labor lost.
Enter Second Messenger.
Second Messenger. My master ! thou, as one who hast full store. One source of sorrow bearest in thine arms, 1370
And others in thy house, too soon, it seems. Thou need'st must come and see.
Creon. And what remains
Worse evil than the evils that we bear ?
