Ismene
Thou hast a fiery soul for numbing work.

Antigone
I pleasure those whom I would liefest please.

Ismene
If thou succeed; but thou art doomed to fail.

Antigone
When strength shall fail me, yes, but not before.

Ismene
But, if the venture’s hopeless, why essay?

Antigone
Sister, forbear, or I shall hate thee soon,
And the dead man will hate thee too, with cause. 
Say I am mad and give my madness rein
To wreck itself; the worst that can befall
Is but to die an honorable death.

Ismene
Have thine own way then; ’tis a mad endeavor,
Yet to thy lovers thou art dear as ever.
[Exeunt]

Chorus
(Str. 1)
Sunbeam, of all that ever dawn upon
          Our seven-gated Thebes the brightest ray,
               O eye of golden day,
How fair thy light o’er Dirce’s fountain shone,
Speeding upon their headlong homeward course,
Far quicker than they came, the Argive force;
               Putting to flight
The argent shields, the host with scutcheons white. 
Against our land the proud invader came
To vindicate fell Polyneices’ claim. 
          Like to an eagle swooping low,
          On pinions white as new fall’n snow. 
With clanging scream, a horsetail plume his crest,
The aspiring lord of Argos onward pressed.

(Ant. 1)
Hovering around our city walls he waits,
His spearmen raven at our seven gates. 
But ere a torch our crown of towers could burn,
Ere they had tasted of our blood, they turn
Forced by the Dragon; in their rear
The din of Ares panic-struck they hear. 
For Zeus who hates the braggart’s boast
Beheld that gold-bespangled host;
As at the goal the paean they upraise,
He struck them with his forked lightning blaze.

(Str. 2)
To earthy from earth rebounding, down he crashed;
     The fire-brand from his impious hand was dashed,
As like a Bacchic reveler on he came,
Outbreathing hate and flame,
And tottered.  Elsewhere in the field,
Here, there, great Area like a war-horse wheeled;
          Beneath his car down thrust
          Our foemen bit the dust.

Seven captains at our seven gates
Thundered; for each a champion waits,
Each left behind his armor bright,
Trophy for Zeus who turns the fight;
Save two alone, that ill-starred pair
One mother to one father bare,
Who lance in rest, one ’gainst the other
Drave, and both perished, brother slain by brother.

(Ant. 2)
Now Victory to Thebes returns again
And smiles upon her chariot-circled plain. 
          Now let feast and festal should
          Memories of war blot out. 
          Let us to the temples throng,
          Dance and sing the live night long. 
          God of Thebes, lead thou the round.