fightest for the state, now if thou come off victorious, thou art in possession of the sceptre.”  These things they said exhorting them to the combat.  But the seers sacrificed the sheep, and scrutinized the shooting of the flames, and the bursting of the gall, the moisture adverse[42] to the fire, and the extremity of the flame, which bears a two-fold import, both the sign of victory,[43] and the sign of being defeated.[44] But if thou hast any power, or words of wisdom, or the soothing charms of incantation, go, stay thy children from the fearful combat, since great the danger, [and dreadful will be the sequel of the contest, namely, tears for thee, deprived this day of thy two children.]

JOC.  O my child, Antigone, come forth from before the palace; the state of thy fortune suits not now the dance, nor the virgin’s chamber, but it is thy duty, in conjunction with thy mother, to hinder two excellent men, and thy brothers verging toward death from falling by each other’s hands.

ANTIGONE, JOCASTA, CHORUS.

ANT.  With what new horrors, O mother of my being, dost thou call out to thy friends before the house?

JOC.  O my daughter, the life of thy brothers is gone from them.

ANT.  How sayest thou?

JOC.  They are drawn out in single combat.

ANT.  Alas me! what wilt thou say, my mother?

JOC.  Nothing of pleasant import; but follow.

ANT.  Whither? leaving my virgin chamber.

JOC.  To the army.

ANT.  I am ashamed to go among the crowd.

JOC.  Thy present state admits not bashfulness.

ANT.  But what shall I do then?

JOC.  Thou shalt quell the strife of the brothers.

ANT.  Doing what, my mother.

JOC.  Falling before them with me.

ANT.  Lead to the space between the armies; we must not delay.

JOC.  Haste, daughter, haste, since, if indeed I reach my sons before they engage, I still exist in heaven’s fair light, but if they die, I shall lie dead with them.

CHORUS.

Alas! alas! shuddering with horror, shuddering is my breast; and through my flesh came pity, pity for the unhappy mother, on account of her two children, whether of them then will distain with blood the other (alas me for my sufferings, O Jove, O earth), the own brother’s neck, the own brother’s life, in arms, in slaughter?  Wretched, wretched I, over which corse then shall I raise the lamentation for the dead?  O earth, earth, the two beasts of prey, blood-thirsty souls, brandishing the spear, will quickly distain with blood the fallen, fallen enemy.  Wretches, that they ever came to the thought of a single combat!  In a foreign strain will I mourn with tears my elegy of groans due to the dead.  Destiny is at hand—­death is near; this day will decide the event.  Ill-fated, ill-fated murder because of the Furies!  But I see Creon here with clouded brow advancing toward the house, I will cease therefore from the groans I am uttering.