Eur. The means?

Cre. ’Tis offered you.  The fool Adrastus has accused himself.

Eur. He has indeed, to take the guilt from me.

Cre. He says he loves you; if he does, ’tis well:  He ne’er could prove it in a better time.

Eur. Then death must be his recompence for love?

Cre. ’Tis a fool’s just reward;
The wise can make a better use of life. 
But ’tis the young man’s pleasure; his ambition: 
I grudge him not that favour.

Eur. When he’s dead, Where shall I find his equal!

Cre. Every where. 
Fine empty things, like him, the court swarms with them. 
Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common,
Crows feed on nothing else:  plenty of fools;
A glut of them in Thebes. 
And fortune still takes care they should be seen: 
She places ’em aloft, o’th’ topmost spoke
Of all her wheel.  Fools are the daily work
Of nature; her vocation; if she form
A man, she loses by’t, ’tis too expensive;
’Twould make ten fools:  A man’s a prodigy.

Eur. That is, a Creon:  O thou black detractor,
Who spit’st thy venom against gods and men! 
Thou enemy of eyes;
Thou, who lov’st nothing but what nothing loves,
And that’s thyself; who hast conspired against
My life and fame, to make me loathed by all,
And only fit for thee. 
But for Adrastus’ death,—­good Gods, his death!—­
What curse shall I invent?

Dioc. No more:  he’s here.

Eur. He shall be ever here.  He who would give his life, give up his fame—­

  Enter ADRASTUS.

If all the excellence of woman-kind
Were mine;—­No, ’tis too little all for him: 
Were I made up of endless, endless joys!

Adr. And so thou art: 
The man, who loves like me,
Would think even infamy, the worst of ills,
Were cheaply purchased, were thy love the price. 
Uncrowned, a captive, nothing left but honour,—­
’Tis the last thing a prince should throw away;
But when the storm grows loud, and threatens love,
Throw even that o’er-board; for love’s the jewel,
And last it must be kept.

Cre. [To DIOC.] Work him, be sure,
To rage; he is passionate;
Make him the aggressor.

Dioc. O false love, false honour!

Cre. Dissembled both, and false!

Adr. Darest thou say this to me?

Cre. To you! why what are you, that I should fear you? 
I am not Laius.  Hear me, prince of Argos;
You give what’s nothing, when you give your honour: 
’Tis gone; ’tis lost in battle.  For your love,
Vows made in wine are not so false as that: 
You killed her father; you confessed you did: 
A mighty argument to prove your passion to the daughter!

Adr. [Aside.] Gods, must I bear this brand, and not retort The lye to his foul throat!