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Am I a prophet? Does this journey bode
Urged by our downcast lord's solicitude,
wrought? What meant you? Where's the stroke that so
distraught? Come out. I supplicate, beseech—my child !
But the boy stared at him with eyeballs wild, Spat in his face, and answered not a word, But tugged the cross hilt-pieces of his sword. His father-whipt away in flight-he missed : But then and there, self-maddened, turned his
wrist And leaned—the blade plunged midway in his side!
[Exit EURYDICE. Close to his failing arms he folds his bride, Yet conscious : panting forth an eager flood, Dyes the white cheek with crimson gouts of
And dead about the dead he lies—poor boy !
Is worst of ills that can a man possess.
Back-not a word, or good or evil, said ?
Her son's sad news received, she will not care
She does not want for sense, that she should err. L. of Cho. I know not : too much silence is no less
Ill circumstance than cries in vain excess.
She covers with restraint a heart of passion-
CHORUS (march measure).
Enter Creon with attendants carrying the body of
HAEMON on a bier.
Wise fool ! (138)—for sin,
See we pass, all akin :
And some be killed.
Fresh-fallen fate !
To death's dissolution
Cho. How all too late the right you now divine !
(Turn B.) Cre,
Has oppressed my brain :
O man, man ! doomed to fighting
Pain, toil and pain !
Enter a MESSENGER from the palace.
and more Anon, within, of troubles to be had ! Cre. What worse can yet remain when all's so bad? Mes. Your wife is dead—to motherhood too true,
Poor lady! Fresh the cuts her knife did hew.
Thou, hav'n ot Death,
Tale of woe rumoureth
Despatched anew ?
What more's to rue ?
Doom closes all !
Cho. You may behold : 'tis no more closeted. Lo!
[The doors open and the body of EURYDICE is exposed.
(Counterturn B.) Cre. Here, sorrow-stricken, I behold another blow !
Remains yet any other ?
Is any yet undone ?
low ! Oh ill-starred the mother,
Ill-starred the son !
yet one lic