Such is the edict (if report speak true)
Of Creon, our most noble Creon, aimed
At thee and me, aye me too; and anon
He will be here to promulgate, for such
As have not heard, his mandate; ’tis in sooth
No passing humor, for the edict says
Whoe’er transgresses shall be stoned to death. 
So stands it with us; now ’tis thine to show
If thou art worthy of thy blood or base.

Ismene
But how, my rash, fond sister, in such case
Can I do anything to make or mar?

Antigone
Say, wilt thou aid me and abet?  Decide.

Ismene
In what bold venture?  What is in thy thought?

Antigone
Lend me a hand to bear the corpse away.

Ismene
What, bury him despite the interdict?

Antigone
My brother, and, though thou deny him, thine
No man shall say that I betrayed a brother.

Ismene
Wilt thou persist, though Creon has forbid?

Antigone
What right has he to keep me from my own?

Ismene
Bethink thee, sister, of our father’s fate,
Abhorred, dishonored, self-convinced of sin,
Blinded, himself his executioner. 
Think of his mother-wife (ill sorted names)
Done by a noose herself had twined to death
And last, our hapless brethren in one day,
Both in a mutual destiny involved,
Self-slaughtered, both the slayer and the slain. 
Bethink thee, sister, we are left alone;
Shall we not perish wretchedest of all,
If in defiance of the law we cross
A monarch’s will?—­weak women, think of that,
Not framed by nature to contend with men. 
Remember this too that the stronger rules;
We must obey his orders, these or worse. 
Therefore I plead compulsion and entreat
The dead to pardon.  I perforce obey
The powers that be.  ’Tis foolishness, I ween,
To overstep in aught the golden mean.

Antigone
I urge no more; nay, wert thou willing still,
I would not welcome such a fellowship. 
Go thine own way; myself will bury him. 
How sweet to die in such employ, to rest,—­
Sister and brother linked in love’s embrace—­
A sinless sinner, banned awhile on earth,
But by the dead commended; and with them
I shall abide for ever.  As for thee,
Scorn, if thou wilt, the eternal laws of Heaven.

Ismene
I scorn them not, but to defy the State
Or break her ordinance I have no skill.

Antigone
A specious pretext.  I will go alone
To lap my dearest brother in the grave.

Ismene
My poor, fond sister, how I fear for thee!

Antigone
O waste no fears on me; look to thyself.

Ismene
At least let no man know of thine intent,
But keep it close and secret, as will I.

Antigone
O tell it, sister; I shall hate thee more
If thou proclaim it not to all the town.