Assailing what the other died to save. ANTIGONE. The powers below ask these observances. CREON. The good ask not like treatment with the bad. ANTIGONE. Who knows but this may be deemed right below? CREON. Hatred expires not when the hated dies. ANTIGONE. Not hate but love to share my nature is. CREON. Go, then, below and love, if love thou wilt, But while I live no woman shall reign here. CHORUS. (ISMENE _entering_) Ismene, lo! before the gate appears, A sister's grief o'erflowing in her tears; The cloud of sorrow gathered on her face Bedews her roseate cheek and mars its grace. CREON. (_To_ ISMENE.) And thou, too, in my home a lurking snake? Didst drain my heart's blood, while I little thought That I was cherishing two traitress fiends? Wast thou a party to this burial, Or wilt thou swear that thou art innocent? ISMENE. I did take part, if she will say I did, And am content to bear my share of blame. ANTIGONE. That equity forbids; neither wert thou Willing to act, nor I to act with thee. ISMENE. Yet would I not refuse mid thy distress, Sister, to sail in the same barque with thee. ANTIGONE. Whose was the deed, the dead and Hades know. I love not one whose friendship ends in words. ISMENE. Sister, deny me not the privilege Of sharing both thy piety and death. ANTIGONE. Share not my death, nor claim the work in which Thou hadst no hand; that I die is enough. ISMENE. What can life be to me, bereft of thee? ANTIGONE. Ask Creon, he is nearest thee in love. ISMENE. Why dost thou gird at me thus fruitlessly? ANTIGONE. My laugh is bitter when I laugh at thee. ISMENE. What can I do to aid thee even now? ANTIGONE. What, save thyself! I grudge not thy escape. ISMENE. Alack! and must I let thee die alone? ANTIGONE. Yes; for thy choice was life, and mine was death. ISMENE. But not unspoken was my mind to thee. ANTIGONE. Thy course was here approved, but mine below. ISMENE. Yet was the fault of both of us the same. ANTIGONE. Be of good cheer, thou livest; but my soul Is with the dead, to whom my care is due. CREON. Of these two sisters, one, it seems to me, Has lost her wits, and one was witless born. ISMENE. O Prince, the reason that is born in us Abides not in the wretched, but departs. CREON. From thee it fled when thou didst share her crime. ISMENE. Without this maiden what can life be worth? CREON. Say not "this maiden," for she is no more. ISMENE. Wilt thou slay her that is thy son's betrothed? CREON. We shall find other fields enough to plough, ISMENE. Thou wilt not find such unison of hearts. CREON. I do not want a bad wife for my son. ANTIGONE. Dear Haemon, how thy father slights thy love. CREON. Thou and thy marriage are a weariness. ISMENE. Wilt thou bereave thy child of his betrothed? CREON. Hades it is that shall these nuptials bar. ISMENE. It is resolved, it seems, that she shall die. CREON.