The most in years of all the mourning train Began; but swooned first away for pain, Then scarce recover'd spoke: Nor envy we Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory; 'Tis thine, O king, the afflicted to redress, And fame has fill'd the world with thy success: 60 We wretched women sue for that alone, Which of thy goodness is refused to none; Let fall some drops of pity on our grief, If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief: For none of us, who now thy grace implore, But held the rank of sovereign queen before; Till, thanks to giddy chance, which never bears, That mortal bliss should last for length of years, She cast us headlong from our high estate, And here in hope of thy return we wait: 70 And long have waited in the temple nigh, Built to the gracious goddess Clemency. But reverence thou the Power whose name it bears, Relieve the oppress'd, and wipe the widow's tears. I, wretched I, have other fortune seen, The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen: At Thebes he fell; cursed be the fatal day! And all the rest thou seest in this array, To make their moan, their lords in battle lost Before that town besieged by our confederate host: 80 But Creon, old and impious, who commands The Theban city, and usurps the lands, Denies the rites of funeral fires to those Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes. Unburn'd, unburied, on a heap they lie; Such is their fate, and such his tyranny; No friend has leave to bear away the dead, But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed. At this she shriek'd aloud; the mournful train Echoed her grief, and grovelling on the plain, 90 With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mind, Besought his pity to their helpless kind!