OED. Fling me with speediest swiftness from the land, Where nevermore I may converse with men. CR. Doubt not I would have done it, but the God Must be inquired of, ere we act herein. OED. His sacred utterance was express and clear, The parricide, the unholy, should be slain. CR. Ay, so 'twas spoken: but, in such a time, We needs must be advised more perfectly. OED. Will ye then ask him for a wretch like me? CR. Yea. For even thou methinks wilt now believe. OED. Not only so. But I will charge thee too, With urgent exhortation, to perform The funeral rite for her who lies within-- She is thy kinswoman--howe'er thou wilt. But never let this city of my sires Claim me for living habitant! There, there Leave me to range the mountain, where my nurse, Cithaeron, echoeth with my name,--Cithaeron, Which both my parents destined for my tomb. So my true murderers will be my death. Yet one thing I can tell. Mine end will come Not by disease nor ordinary chance I had not lived when at the point to die, But for some terrible doom. Then let my fate Run out its full career. But for my children Thou, Creon, shalt provide. As for my sons, I pray thee burden not thyself with them. They ne'er will lack subsistence--they are men. But my poor maidens, hapless and forlorn, Who never had a meal apart from mine, But ever shared my table, yea, for them Take heedful care, and grant me, though but once. Yea, I beseech thee, with these hands to feel, Thou noble heart! the forms I love so well, And weep with them our common misery. Oh, if my arms were round them, I might seem To have them as of old when I could see-- What! Am I fooled once more, or do I hear My dear ones weeping! And hath Creon sent, Pitying my sorrows, mine own children to me Whom most I love? Can this be truth I utter? CR. Yea, I have done it. For I knew the joy Thou ever hadst in this, thy comfort now.