THE TRAGEDY OF ANTIGONE, The Theban Princess. Written by T. May. First Edition. LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper, for Benjamin Fisher, and are to be sold at his shop, at the sign of the Talbot, without Aldersgate. 1631. TO THE MOST WORTHILY HONOURED, ENDYMION, PORTER Esquire one of his Majesty's Bedchamber. SIR. THis Tragedy of Antigone may perchance (considering the subject of it) be thought a Poem too sad and baleful to be read with pleasure, or presented with delight upon any Stage. I confess the sadness of it; but if it suffer for that, it will raise a question more general; Why tragedies have at any time been allowed? Why the ruins and calamities of some men have been represented as a delightsome pastime to other men? Why those ancient wits, whom Greece in her learned'st times did highly admire, have chosen for their deathless Poems almost no other arguments then those calamitous stories of Thebes, Mycenae, Troy, and, most of all, this very discourse of the fatal and incestuous family of Oedipus? where almost all the passages are so far (a man would think) from delighting men, that they might move a suffering even in the furies themselves? and why the greatest Princes, both Grecian and Roman, in their highest jollity have not only beheld with delight the presentation of them: but for their own excercise (as many of them as have had the itch of writing) have chosen these arguments, and made them into Tragedies? Why this hath been generally so (though the cause need no Apology, at least not mine) I will venture some few conjectures. All the spectators are either wretched or fortunate; the wretched in sad stories are in some sort eased by fellowship in woe, or delighted with tragical expressions, as being somewhat of kindred with their own thoughts; those that are fortunate, are affected, in such shows, either with delight, or wholesome sorrow; if they be delighted, it is in the taste of their own prosperity, which appears greater, set off by an object of such contrariety; & this delight is not out of malice (as pleased with the woes of others) but acknowledgement to those high powers which made the difference; if they be sorrowful, their sorrow is wholesome; for as in melancholy diseases merry tales are used to assist nature: so in too great a joy, & wantonness of the soul, such sad representations are as a good allay, depressing the levity of their thoughts to such a mean, as is fit to entertain the best contemplations. Moreover Tragedies (besides the state of them) are pleasing in the expression, forasmuch as sadness doth usually afford the best strains of writing: to omit other instances, love itself (the usual argument of our new Comedy) is there best written, where it is most distressed, and in despairing passion; that part of the Comedy seeming best, which is nearest tragedy, in that strain also go most, or the best of love-sonnets that now are made. But I wander too far in this theme; excuse me (noble Sir) for pressing so much upon your patience, the work itself, did it not more trust or your goodness then its own worth, would think itself too long to be read by you. If you accept it, it seeks no farther. To speak of you as you deserve, I dare not, since your known modesty would check my pen: but this I dare say; there are no arts or arms, or any other true abilities, that ever had the happiness to know you, but will spread your worth, & think you most worthy to stand (as you do) in the presence of a King, wishing you long blessed in his Majesty's favour, & the King blessed with more such servants as you are. God, after all, grant unto you his blessed presence; and so I rest Ever to be commanded by you, Tho. May. A short argument of this Tragedy. ETeocles and Polynices' sons to Oedipus by that incestuous marriage with his mother jocasta, having slain each other in a single combat, Creon is crowned King of Thebes. Creon denies to the Argive Body's funeral rites, which among the heathen, was therefore esteemed a cruel punishment, because they thought the souls of them, that were unburied, wandered an hundred years before they could be transported by Charon into Elysium. Aemon the son of King Creon falling in love with Antigone, the pious daughter of Oedipus, cannot obtain his father's consent to marry her. Antigone, contrary to the king's command, goes by night to bury the body of her brother Polynices, and there meets with Argia the widow of Polynices, and daughter to king Adrastus. They are surprised: Aemon attempting their rescue is wounded, and lies a while concealed. Antigone by Creon is doomed to death. Aemon killeth himself. Theseus killeth Creon, and giveth funeral to the Grecians bodies. THE TRAGEDY OF ANTIGONE The Theban Princess. Actus Primus, scena prima. Oedipus led by Antigone. Oedipus. LEt go this wicked hand; oh daughter leave me, Leave me while thou art virtuous, before Th' infection of my crimes do blast thy goodness Or draw some plague upon thee; this dire head Abhorred by heaven and earth, living in Thebes Brought forth a pestilence, which help of art Could never cure, until, by heaven's decree, Most hateful I was banished from the City. Oh Daughter leave me. Anti. Never, never Sir. While you are here, Cythaeron's craggy mount Is my abode, and far preferred before Labdacus' stately palace, or the towers Of wealthy Thebes, for which my brothers strive, What there I loved, I am possessed of here, My Father's presence; do not banish me Thither again; that place is banishment, While you are here; what but impiety, And brother's hatred shall I there behold? Oed. Thou art too good, Antigone, thy birth Would make me jove my crimes, but that all sense Of virtue, as of light, is dead in me. If thou wilt guide me, guide me to that high And fatal cliff, from whence unhappy Ino Pursued, leapt down into the seas, and met The danger which she fled, there let me lie Concealed for ever from the eye of heaven Ah could I kill my memory as well, That no succeeding ages might relate The name and story of sad Oedipus! Anti. Be not unjust unto yourself to think You have deserved death; the gods call that Mishap and error, which your cruel self Against yourself call crime; love would not hold His vengeful thunder, if he judged it so. The age were good, were men as penitent For true and real faults, as you for that, Which ignorance hath wrought, and was the crime Of fate itself, not yours: you could not think That Theban Laius and jocasta were Your hapless parents; and too great a fear Of being guilty, made you what you feared. Remembering what the oracle foretold, You left a kingdom's glory, and forsook Good Polybus and loving Merope, Your then supposed parents, and betook yourself unto a willing banishment. What more than this could you have done? to keep Your goodness, you forsook a crown, which others Strive to attain by all impiety. Yet cruel fate pursued you still, and made Your virtuous mind the way to your offence; As if the Gods themselves had punished you For striving to be innocent, when they Had fore-decree'd decreed your guilt, take comfort Sir, No man offends, but where the will consents. Oed. How well canst thou, Antigone, that bear'st, A magazine of virtuous thoughts within thee, Speak words of comfort, but accursed I Am most uncapable, there's nought in me, But horror, grief, despair and misery. Show me some way of death, or let me go. Anti. I cannot leave you Sir, nor show your death, But where I mean to bear you company. Oed. I never should have had a virtuous child But to afflict me more; nature will work A miracle to make my sufferings greater. The Sun shall bring black night, the Evening star Usher the day, and seas shall meet the sky To make addition to my misery! Anti. good Sir, go take some rest; do not destroy That life, on which another life depends. Oed. There's none but thou, has a commanding power o'er Oedipus, if thou command me leap Into Sicilian Aetna's scalding throat, I'll gladly do't; if thou wilt have it so I will, like Titius, with my liver feed A tiring vulture; more, I will take rest; Nay, most of all, I'll live at thy request. Anti. I see some signs of rest upon him now. Exeunt. Scena secunda. Aemon. Aemon. How well this sad and solitary place Suits with my thoughts? these unfrequented woods, Where nature void of artificial robes Presents her naked and ungarnished face. In such abodes as these dwelled piety, White innocence, and spotless chastity In that first golden age when Saturn reigned. And still methinks within these woods he reigns, Though banished quite from all the world beside, Here lives the soul of virtue; here abides The fair Antigone, whose matchless goodness Upbraids, and expiates this ages crimes, And quite o'erweighs th'impiety of Thebes, This place the Gods, disdaining other sights, Behold with wonder, when Antigone With pious hands directs her blinded sire The woeful Oedipus; hither the Graces, The chaster Nymphs, and harmless dryads Leaving their bowers of pleasure, all resort To wait on her, and bear her company. Antigone, Aemon. Anti. My father is asleep; you powers above Send sweet refreshment to his wearyed soul. Oh pity him, and punish not too far That crime which fate and you yourselves have made. He has already been himself a judge Too cruel to himself, to expiate His fatal errors, left a crown and sceptre, Fled men's society, and day itself, Torn out his innocent unhappy eyes. Now since he wants the comfort of your light Grant him a quiet undisturbed night. Young Aemon here? Aem. Pardon me royal virgin, Think it not rudeness in me thus to press Upon your privacies; but call it service, Or zeal to wait upon you, and behold What I do most admire. Anti. Sir, 'tis no fault That I can apprehend; or if it be, 'tis such a fault as punishes itself. This is the house of sorrow; nought is here That can invite or recompense your coming. Aem. To visit you, so you be pleased to grace That visit with a welcome, is a blessing No place has power to lessen, it would make hell's saddest cave a fair Elysium. Anti. You come from Court, and speak as that has taught you. This place knows no such language. Aem. Aemon never Was taxed of flattery, nor will your worth Admit it; gentle Lady, be but pleased To think my heart speaks in my tongue to you. Oh give me leave but to confess my flame, Which never can be hid; a better fire More chaste, more true, and full of constancy, (I dare maintain it) warms no breast on earth. No earthly power but sweet Antigone Can sentence me to bliss or endless woe. Oh save that creature that depends on you. Make me immortal by a fair return Of grace from you and favour. Anti. Noble Aemen, (That title, though I hated you, your worth Would challenge from my truth) I love you better Than so to work your ruin; Love and wedlock Have still been fatal in our family. The baleful owls and croaking ravens sing Our Hymenaean songs, and furies light Their brands for torches to our bridal beds. Aem. No, wondrous maid, you bear a heaven about you, A heaven of virtue, that is proof against The furies rage, and fortunes utmost spite: You are above them all. Oh take me to you, And by conjunction of your goodness, make Me higher than the power of fate can reach. Anti. These are no times for Hymen, when the frown Of all the gods lies heavy on our house. Oh move that suit no more; but yet as far As my chaste sorrow can admit of love, Let this suffice you, I do love your soul. And if this storm should clear, and I have power To marry ever, Aemon is the man Of all the world I choose. Aem. Oh heavenly voice! This promise from divine Antigone, More than fruition of the proudest beauty That ere mortality could boast, revives me, And makes me ever happy; all the hours, That from my countries' cause, and from the war I can be spared, I'll keep as holy ones To pay devotion here, here I'll relate whatever fortune throws on doubting Thebes. But one chaste kiss and so farewell. Anti. You have it. Ye powers of love, be all auspicious now. Hymen redeem the wrongs that thou hast done Our house already; had I never seen Young Aemon's face, ne'er known his matchless worth, No other man or mind had ere had power To warm Antigone's cold breast with love. Prosper that flame that you yourselves did move. Dircus, janthus. Dir: 'tis so, janthus, Aemon is in love With fair Antigone; no other passion Could make so fresh a youth and spirit as his To seek such sad retreats; from that dark grove, Which clothes Cythaeren's rough and craggy top, Where far from sight and company of men The woeful Oedipus laments alone His hapless; e errors fault, unseen by any But good Antigone his pious daughter, How oft of late brave Aemon has been met! What but her love had power to draw him thither? Ian. she is an object worthy of Aemon's love. The mirror of her sex, a lasting pattern Of piety to all succeeding times. Dir. As much true wortha nd manly virtue lives In noble Aemons breast, he's the true brother Of brave Menaeceus, whose devoted head Saved Thebes from ruin. Ian. True, if Thebes be safe, As never fairer were her hopes then now; Th'Argolian forces are disheartened quite, And of their seven proud leaders, which of late Beset the gates of Thebes, but two are left Only Adrastus, and our banished prince. If we, I say, be safe, we owe that safety To Creon's sons, to brave Menaeceus' death, And Aemon's living valour; one by death Gave life to thousands; tother noble life Deserved an easier way to fame then death. Dir. But I have heard news from the enemy's camp, All's quiet there, and 'tis supposed they mean To fight no more, but secretly dislodge, And fly away by night. Ian. 'tis like enough, And would the King be ruled by my advice He should not follow them, there has been spilled Already blood enough in that unjust, Unnatural cause. Those brave Argolians, Whose virtues we, although their enemies, Must needs acknowledge, and lament their deaths, Besides those dearer funerals, which Thebes Has mourned already for, to justify The broken faith of King Eteocles. But who's that makes to us so speedily, Thy looks speak news, what are they man? be brief. Nuntius, Dircus, janthus. Nun. The King was walking round the city walls, When straight a parley sounded from the foe, And Polynices our exiled Prince Himself appeared, who from below complained So many noble funerals had paid The forfeit of his brother's perjury; Defied him then, and challenged him alone To end the difference in a single combat. Dir. Oh horrid monstrous challenge? Ian. Has the King Accepted it? Nun. Yes, with a seeming joy, And did complain alone that he himself Was not the challenger. Dir. Unnatural! Nun. Though many that were by, persuaded him He need not answer it at all; his strength Was great enough to keep the crown without it. Ian. But piety however should forbid it. Nun. It did not move his breast; thou shalt (quoth he) Immediately at head of all our troops Find us prepared to answer, and to take Mistake away, we'll wear our royal crown▪ It grieves us only 'twas thy motion first. And one of us, when this black fight is done, Shall without rival keep the Theban crown. Ian. Come Dircus, let's away, and or prevent, Or see the issue of this dire intent. Exeunt. Chorus Thebanorum. Cho. Can Thebes yet find no peace, nor see A period of her misery? What booted brave Menoeteus' death, Who gave up his devoted breath To save his Country? what the falls Of all those worthies, whom the walls Of our sad Thebes late trembled at? Bold Capaneus, whose strange fate No human strength, but from above The thunderbolts of armed jove Could work; the stout Hippomedon, And Meleager's beauteous son; Apollo's sacred Prophet too. Quick to Avernus forced to go Amphiaraus, to prevent The fates, by his so strange descent Frighting the Ghosts that dwell below. Nor could the fatal sisters know, Before they saw him 'mongst the dead; That they should cut his vital thread. These, and a thousand worthies more Are fled down to the shades below, And yet the wicked part of war Doth still remain; the Princes are Both yet alive, and yet do hate. What end can be composed by fate? Their hate is impious, but to try The cause, were more impiety. Our fears do still increase, the skies Are filled with nought but prodigies Which woes and ruins do display. I long to hear what fate today The field affords; relate to us How black soe'er and ominous. Nuntius, Chorus. Nun. Then hear a story that might make Amazed nature's self to shake The Princes both are slain (alas). Cho. What guilty hands could act such tragedies? Nun. Nay there's the sorrow of it, and a grief Worse than their death's are, in a single combat They slew each other. Cho. Oh black family? But yet relate the manner of their death. Nun. When this great war of one divided womb, Two brothers met, both armies stood at gaze, Amazed both; the grieved gods of war, Withdrew their presence from so black a fight. Bellona broke her lance, the blue-eyed maid Fled from the field ashamed, and Mars drove back His Thracian chariot; in whose stead the furies Marshaled the field, and all th' Ogygian ghosts In a black ring beset the combatants Blasting the day with damps of Acheron. No Trumpets sounded, nor shrill cornets pierced The wounded air; for these the nights sad King Thrice thundered from Avernus; thrice the Earth with mournful groans gave signal to the fight. Old men complained that they had lived too long. To see that horrid sight; the women shrieked, And weeping mothers from the walls forbade Their children to behold it, but the Princes With such a furious hatred both encounter As if the souls of all their slaughtered friends, And both the armies, whom their cause engaged, Had lived in them, till fate so cruelly Balanced their strength, that both were slain, yet both were guilty conquerors. Cho. But did they die Together then. Nun: Eteocles fell first; o'er whom, before death closed up his eyes, Bloodless and feeble Polynices stood, And from his head taking th'imperial crown Impaled himself therewith; at last (quoth he) Thou art mine own. oh do not close his eyes Pale death, till he have seen me wear the Crown. But I must leave it too; Oh short short reign. If there be justice in the other world, Before great Minos' urn, it Minos' urn Be not a fable, will I summon thee, Nor shall this combat end our enmity. Then on his brother falling down he died. Cor. Oh horrid fight! bright Phoebus hide thy head, Wrap up the day in foggy clouds, and make An endless night, to hide this tragedy From human eyes; a blacker deed than this Thy light did ne'er discover, here let all The prodigies that threatened us, have end. Nun. The Argives all with winged speed are fled, And Thebes once more has peace; but that, I fear Long cannot last. Chor. What storm can threaten now? Nun. Creon no sooner was saluted King (For so he was since both those Princes fell) But he commanded (Oh fond tyranny) No man on pain of death should dare to bury One body of the Argives, they (alas) Remain exposed in the open field To feed the fowls, or perish in the air. Nor must the Argives only want the rites Of funeral; but Theban Polynices Because with them he fought against his country, Remains exposed as the Argives are In th' open air, who ere shall bury him, His own dead carcase shall supply the place. Cho. Thebes will, I fear, incur the enmity Of nations by this act, and we shall wish (If Creon so begin his froward reign) Th' unhappy house of Oedipus again. Finis actui primis Actus Secundus. Ornitus, Argia, Deiphile. Arg. WHere shall we vent our griefs? what power on earth Can lend our woes redress? Deiph. Accursed Thebes, Is't not enough thy guilty soil hath drunk So many princes bloods, but after death Unto their Ghosts thou still shouldst prove a foe, And bar what nature, and all laws bestow? Ar. Whither is goodness fled from humane breasts? tigers themselves, if tigers could perform These rites of funerals, would now correct The malice of mankind. Arg. What shall we do T'appease the ghosts of our unburied Lords? Deiph. Go sue to Thebes, perchance the sighs, and tears Of weeping queen's may move the tyrant's heart: Or. No, royal Ladies, banish from your breasts That flattering hope; no tears, nor prayers can move, The ruthless tyrant's mind; an impious oath Hath bound his cruelty; his watchmen tell The carcases, and guard the place, to keep Sad friends from thence: no creatures have access To that dire field, but beasts, and birds of prey. His hate is constant, sooner hope t'appease Busiris altars, or the fiends themselves, Then savage Creon; venture not to Thebes. Dei. What other course is left us? Orn. To perform To their dear names such empty funerals As fortune will allow; or if that that Will not suffice, go speedily to Athens; Thither all conquering Theseus is returned, Triumphant now from th' Amazonian war, Whose mighty arm all savage tyrant's dread, Whose high Heroic thoughts were ne'er averse From suppliants, and for encouragement To all that come, in midst of Athens stands A gracious altar, where white mercy dwells, The poor man's goddess, shaded with a grove Of suppliant Olives, and chaste Laurel trees. None are denied to enter, but the rich, And fortunate; poor wretches, night and day, Find free access, and there have leave to pay Their cheap devotion; no slain bullock's blood, No Frankincense, nor rich Arabian fumes Do feed that altar▪ sighs, and floods of tears Are all that goddess craves; no gold adorns Her humble roofs, as those proud temples raised By happy Monarchs, and great conquerors, Instead of trophies, and triumphal robes, Torn hair, and widows mourning garments hang About the temple, thither from all coasts Unhappy souls repair, sad folk subdued In war, or banished from their native soils, Or those, whom hapless error has made guilty. There they implore, and there obtain their peace. Arg. Go you to Athens, sister, and entreat Great Theseus' aid, whilst I, whose fatal quarrel Was cause of all this dire and mournful war, Will try what mercy can be found in Thebes. Deiph. Do not expose your life to such an hazard. Arg. What mischief can an humble suppliant fear? Besides my suit to Creon will in Thebes Be seconded by Polynices' friends. Go you with speed to Athens, if I fail, That your petitions timely may prevail. And all the gods prosper your pious suit. Arg. May Thebes prove gentle when Argia enters. Exeunt. Manet Argia, Menaetes. Arg. Now I am free to act what I design. Shall I expect the doubtful grant of Creon, Or Theseus lingering aid, whilst thou, dear Lord, Art food for vultures? whilst thy funeral Decreases daily, and thy wandering Ghost Perchance complaining to th'infernal gods Callest me unkind, and cruel? I will lose No longer time, no danger shall withstand That act, which love, and my chaste fires command. Exit. Creon, Eurydice, janthus, Aephytus. Cre. Move me no more in that, can Aemon find No match 'mongst all the noble Theban Maids, Nor foreign princess, but Antigone? To mix the fortune of our house with that Incestuous, dire, and fatal family? Move me no more I say. Eury. but good, my Lord, Weigh not alone her hapless parentage, (Though that were royal, and allied to you In near degrees) but her admired virtue, In which the general voice of people speaks her As much excelling, as the worst of all Her wretched race were infamous for vice. Cre. What real virtue ever could proceed From such an impious stock? or being borne, Could ever prosper? Eury. Do not tax so far The justice of the gods, that they should punish In good Antigone her kindred's crimes: They have already with dire punishments Paid for their proper guilt; and her rare virtues By the same law may challenge, as a due, The greatest blessings that the gods can grant. Cre. No act of hers can recompense the guilt Her birth alone has brought into the world, And now we'll purge the city, Aephytus, Go find out Oedipus, and in our name Confine him to Cithaeron; speak it death, If ere he show within the walls of Thebes His ominous head. Aeph. That banishment, my liege, Is come too late, he is confined already Unto his latest home, grief for his sons Has broke at last his great and stubborn heart. Ian. The queen jocasta hearing that sad news Beating her breast, tearing her hoary hair, And uttering sad complaints against the gods, And fates severe decrees, at last espied That fatal sword by which old Laius died On which she fell, and ended her sad life. Cre. We have no tears for her, although our sister; Let all the plagues, that Thebes so long has felt, Take end with them. None but Antigone Is now remaining of that family. Go thou, janthus, in our name command her To keep her house in Thebes, nor stir from thence, Until our farther pleasure shall be known. Exit Ian. Eury. Be good to her, my Lord, for Aemons sake. whate'er mishap befall Antigone he'll deeply share in, for I fear his love Is too too constant ere to be removed. Rather than lose him, grant his lawful suit. Cre. I'll rather grant him death then marriage there. Eur. Remember he's our son, our only son, And virtuous too, of whom the Kingdom boasts. Blast not their hopes in him, the fate of love Is irresistible. Cre. Let Aemon know we'll be his fate. No more Eurydice. janthus, Creon, Eurydice. Ian. Antigone was lately met alone Without the city. None of all her servants Were privy to her going, nor yet know Whither their Lady went. Cre. Ha! I suspect What she intends to do. If I guess right She goes upon her ruin. Aephytus, Double the watch, and with a careful eye o'er look the knaves; this night shall be thy charge. Perform it well, and thou shalt find reward Beyond thy wishes; let no negligence, No gifts, no favour, nor respect to any, How near soe'er to us, make thee or them Slack in your charges, as your lives shall answer Our strictest justice. Aeph. Do not fear me Sir. Cre. I'll be at hand myself to make all sure. Exeunt. Antigone sola: Ant. Post to the West, bright Phoebus, and thou night, That robbest mortality of light, to lend them A greater blessing, rest and sweet repose, Spread thy black mantle over yond mourning fields, Which those dead Grecians strew, where too too long My wronged brother Polynices lies Barred by unnatural, and injurious Thebes, Dead from a tomb, as living from a Crown. This wrong must I redress, assist me virtue, And all ye gods, that favour piety. I have at last escaped the curious eyes Of all that watched my actions, and expect Nought but the safe concealment of the night: Were but these rites performed, not Creon's spite, Nor racks, nor tortures should my soul affright. Chorus Thebanorum. 1 What could th' Argolian ghosts, though once our foes, Deserve so much from us, as thus to lose The rites of funeral, which all mankind justly expect from greatest foes to find? Why should the land that gave them death, deny Them sepulture? pursuing enmity Farther than that? why with so black a stain Dost thou pollute the entrance of thy reign Unhappy Creon, thwarting nature's law, Upon thyself and fatal Thebes to draw The hate and curse of nations, who will make The quarrel theirs; Pluto himself will take Revenge for this great loss, that must befall His Monarchy, whilst these Argolians all Unburied lie, wandering a hundred year Exiled from him for want of sepulchre. 2 Thine anger boots not, Creon; 'tis all one Whether the fire or putrefaction Dissolve them; all to nature's bosom go, And to themselves their ends the bodies owe. If now the Argives bodies be not burned, They shall when earth and seas to flames are turned. Earth will, inspite of thee, receive again whatever she brought forth; and they obtain heaven's coverture, that have no graves at all. Thou that deniest these people funeral, Why dost thou fly those slaughter-smelling fields? Breathe, if thou canst, the air this sad place yields. Those vanquished carcases alone possess The ground, and bar the conquerors access. 3 When that annoyance shall be vanished quite, The wandering ghosts will still remain, and fright The baleful place; ploughmen shall fear to toil In furrows of this ill-manured soil. This ghostly land of ours perchance shall be ta'en for Avernus by posterity, And claimed by Pluto as his monarchy, Where thousand wandering souls together fly. Clear Dirce shall be made the poet's theme, Instead of muddy Styx, whose fatal stream The ghosts so strive to be transported over By churlish Charon to Elysium's shore: And rather than so great an host should seem Exiled from thence, it will be thought by them Another Acheron shall here be made, And they possess their own Elysian shade. 1. What shall we do to cure this fatal stain Upon our nation? 2. Nothing but complain. Actus Tertius. Aemon. MY fears have brought me early to this place. The night is young; No watches yet are set. How sad and deep a silence does possess These mourning fields! but why should that seem strange! Why shake I thus? Why do my coward thoughts Tell me 'tis ominous? is it not night? And who dares tread on this forbidden ground? The Ravens, Wolves, and vultures here have filled Their hungry maws, and now are gone to rest. What noise should I expect, unless the Ghosts Of these dead Greeks with querulous cries should fill The air of night? what horror thus invades me? Is it because the screech owl cried about me Passing the gates of Thebes? because tonight I have so often stumbled on dead men? Tut; these are toys for children, let not fear, That ever was a stranger to this breast, Reign in it now. But 'tis Antigone, Whom cruel virtue will command tonight Into a world of danger, is the cause Of all my fear. Oh fair Antigone, Why art thou good? so excellently good, To make me more than wretched? you bright stars, That do alternately with Phoebus rule And measure time, if virtue be a kin To heaven and you, if your fair influence Govern this lower world, let not the night, Which is your time of reign, give privilege To murders, witchcrafts, and infernal arts, Whilst virtue suffers, and white innocence Is made a prey. I'll watch the fields tonight; But not be seen, till time require mine aid. Secretly shrouded in yond Cypress grove I'll watch what fortunes do attend my love. Exit. Menaetes, Argia. Men. Madam, the place is near; the noisome air, Which those unburied carcases exhale, Grows stronger still, and from that feeble shine, Which to the night half-clouded Cynthia lends, How large a shade the lofty Theban walls Spread o'er this field of death! those twinkling lights, Which we from hence discern, burn in the tower Of Creon's cruel watch. Arg. Oh Thebes, a name Once dear to me, but now a word of horror, And endless sorrow! yet give leave t' enterre My husband's hearse, and I will love thee still, And leave my heart for evermore to dwell On thy dear ground, behold with what attendance, What state the great Adrastus' daughter comes To claim her right at Thebes; how poor a claim The wronged wife of Polynices makes. 'tis not thy wealth, nor Cadmus stately throne, Nor crown, nor sceptre that Argia claims. I crave but mourning free, but death and dust, And such abhorred dust, as thou disdainest To harbour lovingly, bestow but what Thou hat'st on me, and take the greatest thanks A queen can give; and thou beloved ghost Of my dead Lord, if through these fields thou wander, And love the rites that I perform tonight, Direct me where thy wronged body lies. Men. Madam this way, nearer the city walls My Lord was slain, & there perchance he lies. Exeunt., Dircus with a Torch. Dir. Prince Aemon is abroad, and woe is me Gone with too great a confidence I fear Upon my plot, which is defeated quite. The watch is doubled, and more strictly kept Then heretofore, no possibility To lay them all asleep, what he intended To work upon it, is quite frustrate now. Oh could I meet him but to let him know What has befallen. I'll range these fields to find him. Exit. Menaetes and Argia with the dead body. Arg. Was this the sight was promised me at Thebes? Are these the triumphs of my dearest Lord? Thus to thy native country dost thou bid Argia welcome? thus dost thou requite. The entertainment, that kind Argos gave To thee a stranger? why preparest thou not The Theban palace to receive thy queen? But why complain I vainly? thou alas Art held a stranger to thy native Thebes, Nay more, a foe, to whom the cruel ground Denies that common bounty, which in death The meanest creatures challenge at her hand. But woe is me, 'twas I that caused thy fall, 'twas I that moved my father to this war, And all those Grecian Princes; happy else Mightst thou have lived at Argos still with me, And ne'er set foot on this accursed ground. Did I for this entreat those valiant Greeks To war with Thebes, to see my dearest Lord Thus all deformed with gore, trod down in dust, And covered over with filth? Men. See, Madam, see The mortal wound yet gaping on his breast. Arg. Was this a brother's hand? but in that name I find thy guilt as much; I'll rather think Thou ne'er hadst any kindred, never brother, Nor other name of blood, which nature meant A name of love. For where are all their tears? Where is their sorrow now? if not in Thebes Where hast thou kindred? none laments but I; To me alone is Polynices dead. Where is thy mother, and thy sisters now? Where is that good Antigone, so famed For piety, whom thou so oft wouldst praise, And tell such pleasing stories of her virtue? Antigone with a Torch. Ant. About this place he lies, dear Ghost forgive Thy sister's slackness, and with favour now Accept these loving, though late rites I do. A Grecian Lady? (so her habit speaks her) Some pious sorrow brings her to this place: Lady the gods assist your piety. Arg. Are you a woeful widowed Lady too, That come to break dire Creon's savage law? But yet you seem a Theban; all their bodies Have rites of funeral performed already. Or does your too too charitable grief? Extend to some unhappy Grecian soul? Anti. I know not how to answer you; the man Whose hearse I seek, was once a Thebes, prince; But since his native soil did prove to him So cruel, and unnatural, I dare Not call him Theban. Gentle Argos proved A kinder home to him, and freely gave What Thebes, though due, denied, a princely state With royal nuptials; now among the souls Of those unburied Grecians wanders he, And still perhaps desires to be esteemed One of their company, hating for ever (Ah woe is me) the memory of Thebes. His name was Polynices, my unhappy, Though dearest brother. Arg. Oh my heart? are you That good Antigone, whom I so long Have wished to see? Ant. I am that woeful maid. Arg. Then see your brother my dear husband's hearse Your grief is mine. Ant. Pardon me royal sister, Are you Argia great Adrastus' daughter? Let me adore the best of woman kind. Has your most faithful unexampled love Brought you so far, and on so cruel hazards To my dead brother? was it not enough That first so great a princess as yourself Advanced a banished man, and freely gave That love to him, which happiest princes sought? But that his dire misfortunes evermore Should make your virtue wretched? Arg. Dearest sister, Whose knowledge I am proud, though thus, to meet, By this true knot of everlasting love Our sorrow ties tonight, I here protest, No grief, no loss that banishment could bring Did move so much sad Polynices' heart, As parting from thy dearest company. No name to him was half so dear in Thebes, No name so often as Antigone Would his sad tongue to me alone repeat. Antigo. And witness all ye sacred deities, Though Polynices from his native Thebes Were banished long, yet from a sister's heart The love of thee could never be exiled, Nor Thebes without thy presence pleasing to me. How oft have I upon Cithaeron's mount Appeased my father's anger toward thee? And dost thou thus visit thy sister here? Oh my wronged brother? Arg. Oh my dearest Lord! When first at Argos I beheld thy face, It was deformed with blood, and wounded then, Yet then I loved it; fortune to my love Showed thee at first a pitied spectacle As now at last, dearest Antigone; My brother Tydeus met him then at Argos, Both strangers there, before affinity Had made them brothers, in a mutual rage They fought; but all the blood that then was drawn Seemed but a sacrament, that did confirm Their after rare and unexampled love. Anti. Ay me, how different was it from the love Which here a natural brother showed to him! Argos, how far dost thou disgrace our Thebes In nature and in honour! Menae. Royal Ladies, The night grows old, and danger threatens us. Be speedy now: these obsequies performed, You may with more security enjoy Each others mutual love, and then discourse Of Thebes, and Argos; danger, and the time Will not permit it now; not far from hence Are many fragments left of funeral fire, Where Thebans have been burned; those let us use, And then retire from this unhappy place. Aephytus with the watch. Aeph. Where didst thou see those lights? 1. About the place Where Polynices' body lies. Aeph. If any Have there performed forbidden obsequies, They cannot far escape; pursue with speed; Spare none; you know your oath, and penalty. Aemon, and Dircus. Aem. The watch is up, and with a winged speed Pursues those lights, which my presaging soul Tells me attend on fair Antigone. Should what I fear prove true, they must not seize her, If all persuasions, promise of reward, Nor gold prevail not, the dear cause will lend This arm a strength above mortality. Exeunt. Creon, janthus. Cre. The watch is diligent; they do not know That I am in the field. Ian. No sure, my Lord. For your disguise is perfect, and no notice Was given from me at all. Cre. What things are these? Two hags pass over the stage. Ian. Witches, my Lord, that come to exercise On these dead bodies that bestrew the field Their damned arts; here in the depth of night With incantations, and abused herbs They turn the dead's pale faces to inquire And hear the horrid oracles of death. Th' infernal gods over mastered by their power, Or else persuaded by some piety Which pleases them, deny these witches nothing Which they request, the souls of those dead men Are forced t' obey their charmings, and return Back to their ancient prisons, to reveal To these dire hags the secrecies of fate And things to come. Cre. I'll follow them janthus, And know what fortunes shall attend my reign. Ian. Ah good my Lord use not so bad away, You have at hand, a nobler means to know The truth of all; the old Tiresias Taught from the wisdom of the gods above, Who by a magic more divine and pure Surveys the course and influence of the stars, And in that glorious book reads the event Of future things, rather repair to him, Let him prepare a sacrifice, and ask The pleasure of the gods. Cre. Tut tut janthus, astrology's uncertain, and the gods In mystic riddles wrap their answers up. But he that dares with confidence to go inquire of deaths black oracles below In plainest terms the certain truth shall know. Exeunt 2. Haggs. 1. We come too late, nor can this field To us a speaking prophet yield. The carcases, whose cold dead tongues From whole, and yet unperished lungs, Twixt hell and us should hold commerce, And be the black interpreters Of Stygian counsels to relate The hid decrees of death and fate; Those carcases I say are grown Corrupt, and rotten every one, Their marrow's lost, their moisture's gone, Their Organs parched by the sun, That there the Ghost drawn up from hell's Dark entrance, nought, but broken yells, And dismal hizzings can afford, Not one intelligible word. 2. But from this field of slaughter I Have gathered up a treasury, As dead men's limbs wet in the rain, Cold gelled tongues and parched brain, The slime that on black knuckles lies, Shrunk sinews, and congealed eyes, Bit from their fingers nails over grown, And from young chins pulled springing down. Flesh bit by Wolves I took away, And robbed the vulture of her prey. Where Thebans funeral piles had made, I did the mourning fire invade, And there black rags with ashes filled, And coals on which their fat distilled, I gathered up, and took from thence Half-burnt bones, and Frankincense, And snatched the fatal kindling brand From out the weeping parents hand. 1 Once more let's trot the fields about To find a fresher carcase out. And speak a charm that may affright All pious love from hence tonight, Lest we by funeral rites do lose What Creon's cruelty bestows. The 3 Hagge with a carcase. 3 By Creon's trembling watch I bore This new slain carcase, but before I brought him thence, I gripped him round. The fillets of his lungs are sound. His vitals all are strong and whole To entertain the wretched soul, Whom forced furies must affright Back from hell to us tonight. Enter Creon, janthus. Cre. You wise interpreters of fate, that look With just contempt down on that small allowance Of knowledge, which weak human breasts possess. Whose subtle eyes can penetrate the depth Of dark Avernus' secrets, and from thence Enforce an answer from th' obeying finds. Let me from your deep skill be guided now To know th' assurance of my future state: It is a King that craves your aid, a King Whose power has given your art this furtherance, By my command these carcases have lain Unburied here for you to practise on. If Creon then deserve it at your hands, Resolve me of my fate. 3. You have your wish. This carcase shall relate it; do not fear To hear him speak: what herbs have you prepared? 1. I here have gathered, all in one, The poisonous jelly of the moon, Mixed with sulphur of the night, leopard's bane, and Aconite, Dew gathered, ere the morn arose, From nightshade, henbane, Cypress boughs. 'Mongst living creatures I have sought, And from each baneful brood have brought whate'er could aid to our work give, Skins stripped from horned snakes alive, The Lynxes bowels, blood of frogs, The screech-owls eggs, the foam of Dogs, The wings of bats, with dragon's eyes, The Crows black head, the stone that lies In Eagles nests, and pebbles round, That when the Ocean ebbs are found: 3. Enough; but I to add to these so known And vulgar helps of our great art, have gone, And found such simples, whose concealed aid No witch ere used, or trembling god obeyed. Thessalia's valleys, Colchos famed shore, Nor Libyan squalid sands with Gorgon's gore Bedewed and sprinkled, ne'er produced juice That could so much enthrall the deities. When first I plucked them in yond gloomy vale The furies shriek, and Hecate grew pale, As loath to have (in that abhorred ground) The power of simples, and their weakness found. 2. Then let us now employ their powerful help. What place do we design for our black work? 1. There is within Cithaeron's hollow side A dark, and squalid cave, where day ne'er peeped, Nor ever light, but light by magic made Shot through that dismal air; pale mouldy filth Bred there by dreary night o'erspreads the place. The mouth of Taenarus, that baleful bound Twixt heaven and hell, appears not half so black. To this sad cave th' accustomed fiends ascend, And think themselves still in their proper place. But Ghosts, that newly past Avernus' lake, Shun the ascent, and though by us invoked, Tremble to enter to that place unknown, And find a hell more horrid than their own. 2. Then thither let us bear this carcase hence. 3. 3. No, no, we scorn the helps of that dark place; Nor is it honour to our art to find, But make a darkness fit to serve our ends. We that can force a Magic light to glide Through closest vaults, can force in spite of day A mist of night to rise, which all the rays Of burning Phoebus shall want power to scatter. Oh would it were not night, but that the sun Rode in his height of strength; how proudly then Might we perform our rites, and make it known, We use not nature's darkness but our own. 1. Let's go no further then; this place shall serve. 3. 3. Apply your ointments to the body, whilst I Prepare, and speak a charm shall quickly call Th' affrighted soul back to his mansion. Cre. My joints begin to tremble, and I fear As much the means of knowledge, as th' event Of what I came to know. Ian. How full of black And baleful horror is this art of theirs? Would I were well from hence; let me hereafter. Rather remain in endless ignorance Then purchase knowledge by such means as these. 3. 3. Sad King of night, whose baleful Monarchy The still repaired ruins of mankind Through every age increase; that griev'st alone To see the heavenly gods for ever free From death's assaults, and thy subjection. Old formless Chaos, thou that wouldst deface Nature's whole beauty, quite disjoined her fabric, And swallow up in dark confusion Ten thousand worlds; thou squalid ferryman Of still Avernus; thou three-headed porter; You snake-haired sisters, punishers of guilt, As you would gain our aid, or fear our threats, Whip back again into this upper world That new-fled soul, which did of late inhabit This pale and ghastly seat, but if in vain On you I call, thou wretched wandering Ghost, Not yet transported o'er the burning stream, But doomed to exile for an hundred years, If true rewards can tempt thee, once again Enter thy ancient prison, and in lieu Of that shore penance, I will make thee free (Releasing all thy tedious banishment) Of fair Elysium; with such powerful rites I'll give thee burial, as no Magic spells, Nor incantations shall for ever call Thee back, nor trouble thine eternal rest. Relate to Creon King of Thebes the fate That shall attend his reign. Ian. The carcase stirs. Cre. The face retains pale death; yet seems to live. The carcase speaks. Thy death is near; yet ere thou die A great and strange calamity Shall seize thy house, and thou in woe Shalt think the fatal sister's slow In giving death, desiring then Thy reigns short date had shorter been; Yet thou at last in death shalt have (Though thou denied'st it us) a grave. false. Cre. Shame on your damned arts; it does not lie Within the power of fate to work this mischief. Ian. Believe it not, my Lord; let's quit the place, And from the wise Tiresias seek advice, Exeunt. Aemon, Dircus. Aem. Dircus, she's gone, and I am worse than dead, Oh would the villain's arms had had the power To have dispatched me quickly. Dir. Good my Lord, Take fairer hopes, and live; cast not away The kingdom's joy; what cruelty can touch So sweet a virtue as Antigone? Retire with me into yond little house; I'll there bind up your wounds; you bleed too fast, And needs must faint before you reach the walls. The wounds I took are scratches. Aem. Honest Dircus, What care can ere my body have without The presence of my soul? Dir. Delay not Sir. Their goodness will protect them: what other Lady Was that with her? Aem. It seems it was Argia Dead Polynices wife, Adrastus' daughter, Or else some grace or goddess in that shape Came to consort with good Antigone. Dir. Wandering about the fields to find out you, I met with witches, impious hags, that came As I suppose, for execrable ends There to abuse the bodies of the dead. Oh partial fates, oh too injurious night, Can these escape, when piety must suffer? Aem. A faintness seizes me, I prithee Dircus Let me have speedy news. Dir. You shall my Lord. When I have dressed you, I'll to court, and thence Bring you a true and swift intelligence. Exeunt. Chorus Argiuarum, Deiphile. Cho. By what new ways of grief shall we Our widowed losses signify? What strange expression can become A woe so strangely burdensome? No howls, no shrieks, no voice of woe, Not such as widowed turtles show, Nor such as Philomel, when she High seated on a poplar tree, Sends sweet sad notes through th' air of night, Wailing the husbandman's despite, That reaved her of her dearest nest. Our loss cannot be so expressed. No, nor by actions, such as are The rending of dishevelled hair, Or beating of our breasts; these all No more than death and funeral Can show; but in our husbands we Receive a greater injury Than death had done; the common rite Of funeral barred in despite. Deiph. Cease widows longer in that strain To wail, or 'gainst the fates complain For funeral rites; but understand Great Theseus, whose victorious hand In conquests never yet has failed, Is he, with whom we have prevailed For aid; and think what action He undertakes, already done. He will revenge on Creon's head The wrongs that we have suffered. Our dear Lords Ghosts shall righted be. Then join your voices all with me, And in triumphant songs let us Renown the noble Theseus. Cho. Theseus is he, whose warlike hand Defends mankind in every land No less by tyrants feared and known Then was the fair Alcmena's son. 'twas he, whose just revenging steel Subdued, and made dire Schinis feel The self-same torture in his death By which he took from other's breath, When trees together bowed were, And parted thence again, did tear Poor wretches, but by Theseus he Was forced to taste that Tragedy. Deip. Procrustes that inhuman thief (Monster of nature past belief) That made all passengers, whom he Surprised within the woods, to be By an unheard of cruel sport Stretched longer out, or else cut short, To fit their stature to his bed, By Theseus' hand was conquered, And doomed then himself to die By the same kind of cruelty. Cho. 'Twas he alone that did set free Athens from that sad slavery Which Minos fury, for the loss Of his beloved Androgeos, Had brought them to; when with clew He scaped the Labyrinth, and slew Fierce Minotaurus, that had been The monstrous issue of the Queen Pasiphae, Whom unnatural Prodigious lust had made to fall Before a Bull; the monster held Both shapes, and her foul guilt revealed. Deiph. Against a far worse monster now The noble Theseus' arms to go, inhuman Creon, that denies To worthiest souls due obsequies, And, what those monsters would not do, Does after death his hate pursue. Cho. Oh let that still victorious sword Be now as prosperous, and afford To wicked Creon the just meed That is deserved for such a deed. But 'tis against all holy laws To doubt success in such a cause. Actus Quartus. Aephytus, Creon, Dircus, Antigone, Argia. Aeph. PRince Polynices' body is interred By these two Ladies, whom I apprehend Just as the deed was done; nor did themselves Deny the fact. Cre. One I suspected still, And I am glad I have her, what's the other? Arg. The woeful widow of that wronged Prince Who stayed behind my countrymen, to do Those rites, which love, and piety required To my dead Lord; if that be judged a crime 'tis such a crime as I profess, and boast. Cre. Are you Adrastus' daughter then? Arg. The same. Cre. You are our prisoner now, take her, janthus, Into your custody: this falls out fitly, The ransom of this Princess will come well To fill our now-exhausted treasury. But thou a Theban borne, bound to obey Our crown and laws, what fury moved thy breast (Disloyal maid) to scorn our edict so? Anti. No other fury than the love of virtue, And reverence of the gods, moved me to this. Which were't to do again, not all the power Of hell, and tyrants should affright me from it. Cre. Has guilt emboldened thee? is this th' excuse Thou mak'st to me? Ant. Creon, Let impious acts Seek for excuses; I nor can, nor will So wrong the cause of heaven and piety, As once to plead a fond excuse for that, Which is my merit, for that act I say Which by direction from the gods themselves I have performed. Cre. Is disobedience merit? Or do the gods command subjects to break The laws of Princes? Ant. Yes, their wicked laws, Which thwart the will of heaven, the rule of nature, And those pure principles, which human breasts Did at their first original derive From that Celestial essence: Such a law Was this which I have broke, in giving rites Of funeral to Polynices' hearse, My dearest brother, this disobedience Thy servants (durst they speak) would justify; But foreign nations, and all future times In spite of tyrant's threatenings shall commend What I have done, and though I die for this Unjustly now, yet the infernal judges, Whose sentence no mortality can scape, But must to all eternity sustain, Shall from their just unpartial urns bestow Endless rewards beyond my sufferings far. Cre. To those infernal judges shalt thou go, And thank my charitable doom, that sends Thy soul to such great happiness, if thou Esteem it happiness, and do not fear What thou wouldst seem to wish. Anti. No, tyrant, no; Death cannot prove a punishment to me, Whose life was nought but sorrow; freed from this Unhappy world, in tother I shall come Most wished, and welcome to my father's sight, And that dear brother, for whose sake I die. Creo. Thou shalt be banished from the light of day, Nor then shalt thou immediately have power To see that other world thou so desir'st. janthus, till our farther pleasure's known Guard safe Argia's person; Aephytus; See present execution done upon Antigone; without the city walls There is a new digged tomb, where never yet Lay any funeral; in that enclose Antigone alive, and bar it fast As thou intend'st to live, there let her pray To those infernal gods she so adores, To keep her there, or take her quickly thence. Exit Cre. Dir. Oh black accursed doom; oh my sad fate, That must report this news to noble Aemon, And with that breath destroy the best of men. Exit Dir: Argi. Furies have left their dark abodes, to dwell In human shapes on earth; there could not else Live such a monster, one so opposite To heaven and goodness, as cursed Creon is. Ah dearest, dearest sister, did the fates Differre so long our wished acquaintance here To make us meet so wretchedly at last? Anti. Weep not dear sister; your calamity Adds to my sufferings more: why were not all The miseries of Cadmus woeful house Confined within ourselves, and bounded here In fatal Thebes? why spread they so, to make The best of soul's partaker? happy else, And safe for ever had your virtue lived Admired in wealthy Argos, had you ne'er near known the sad affinity of Thebes. Arg. Why did the tyrant thus divide our sufferings? The tomb, where thou art closed, had been to me More pleasing than a palace. Anti. Heaven forefend; May the just gods hereafter recompense Argia's virtue with a happier love Than Polynices was, and happier friends Than Thebes can give, do not lament for me, Not fear the torments of my lingering death. I am provided of a remedy That shall delude the cruelty of Creon. Farewell my dearest Aemon, whose loved presence More than the sight of day afflicts my soul To lose so soon, farewell where ere thou art, Till in the other world we meet again. Exeunt. Aemon. Aeem. No news of comfort, or discomfort yet? Forgive me faithful Dircus, if my soul My lovesick soul unjustly do accuse Thy diligent care, and think thee slack; my heart Till thy return is stretched upon the wrack, A rack of torturing thoughts, more painful far Than tyranny could wish, or foes invent To punish foes, dost thou delay, because The news thou bring'st is ill? if my fair love Be dead, or doomed to death, why dost thou keep My soul from her Celestial company? If all be well— but oh presumptuous soul check that too happy thought again; I know My father's nature is unmovable In all resolves, and this bound by an oath So deep, so solemn, and inviolable As ere't be broke will break this heart of mine. Enter Dircus See here he comes, speak man, what news? Ay me, Thy very looks have blasted me before Thy tongue can be their sad interpreter. No news but black could force a soldier's tears. Antigone is dead. Dir. Not dead, my Lord, But lives among the dead. Aem. How man? Expound This enigmatic sorrow. Dir. In a tomb, Where never more she shall behold the day Nor Phoebus splendour, by the king's command, Is fair Antigone enclosed alive— To famish there and die. Aem. Enough, enough. Shut up alive to starve, oh horrid doom! As if that death alone, though ne'er so gentle, Had not been punishment enough for her For such a cause as that; but yet this sentence Gives respite to her death, and leaves a way To our prevention; I must spend no time In thinking now; all action is required. Thus it must be; be speedy faithful friend, Run to my mother, and with all the vows, And vehement protestations that thou canst From me assure her, if Antigone Be not released in time, it shall not lie In all the power of earth to save my life. Her love I fear not, though my father now Have cast his frown upon me, to this place Return again with all thy speed, whilst I device some other means if that should fail. Dir. Fear not my care, my Lord, but let me crave (By your own worth I beg it, and that favour Which you were ever pleased to reflect On my poor services) till I return, Attempt no other course, I will be speedy, And if persuasions of the queen do fail; we'll find a way to save the princess life, But 'tis a desperate way, and must be used The last of all. AEm. Oh comfortable Dircus, Do but assure me that, and I shall owe More than my life, and all my fortunes to thee Upon mine honour, I'll not stir from hence Till thou return, nor stay thee now t'enquire More of the plot. Dir. I will outfly the wind. Exit. Aem. Closed up alive within a tomb to starve! Oh horrid cruelty, I would I could Forget whose crime it were, that my free hate Might not be checked by duty to a father. Should I approve his action, 'twere a sin So great 'gainst virtue, as no time could pardon; Should I condemn it, I must then abhor Th' offendor, and that piety forbids. Oh why should piety, and virtue strive? That piety, which I so much admired In fair Antigone, myself transgress In loving her cross to my father's will. Yet in obeying him I must approve Her piety, or else condemn mine own. What thoughts will reign in this divided breast. Till Dircus do return? but courage heart, More strong is he, that can his doubts defer Than he that known calamities does bear. Exit. Chorus of old men. 1: Oh smooth thy frown at last, great queen of heaven, Let not unhappy Thebes for ever feel The dire effects of thy too mindful wrath: What could the wretched Semele's offence, Or poor Alcmena's error more deserve, Than they themselves have suffered from thy hand? Or if succeeding branches needs must bleed For parents' faults, before a goddess wrath Can be appeased, could not Actaeon's wounds Athamas madness, Ino's woeful death, Nor pitied Oedipus his fall suffice? 2. Could not the actions of great Hercules, Nor Bacchus glorious deeds, which all mankind For ever shall renown, weigh down the crimes Of their unhappy mothers, and such crimes, As only jove's resistless power could force? 3. A fiercer war by far now threatens Thebes Then that which old Adrastus with the aid Of all his rash confederates could make. The mighty Theseus, whose all-conquering hand No Kingdom yet with safety could withstand, Armed with a cause, in which the prayers and wish Of nations join, is marching towards us. 1. In vain, alas, did we expect an end Of this dire war, when both the princes died, When th' Argives fled, must out own victory Become our grief? and draw upon us now A greater ruin than our foil had done? 2. 2. It must, it must, since Creon's cruelty, Most unexpected, barbarous cruelty Will have it so, oh friend, I could believe, Were not the noble Aemon Creon's son, And heir apparent to our Diadem, We had been happier far t' have been subdued Then brought by victory to such obedience. 3 True friend; there's all out trust, the gods in nought But that brave PRINCE's life, have left us hope Of any future favour to redress The miseries, which we so long have felt. But for this imminent, nay present danger What were we best to do? 1. Advise the King Rather to change his purpose, then expose His weakened Kingdom to great Theseus' fury. Though he should prove never so obstinate: Better that any one for good advice Should suffer from his fury, than the land In general should smart. 2. You counsel well, But who should be the man? 3. There's none so fit As old Tiresias, that most holy man, Taught from the gods above, whose words by all Our Theban Princes have been long esteemed As oracles, him Creon will obey. 1. 1. Then thither let us, and with him advise How to redress our present miseries. Actus Quintus. Euridice, Dircus. THat was my fear before, I thought my son Too far in love to bear, with patience, His Lady's death, and therefore did entreat The King with tears, and sighs, that would have moved A rock of flint, but he more hard than rocks, Deafer than Northern winds, with rage repulsed My oft repeated suit, and now, ay me, What most I feared is proved, my son will die; For he has vowed never to pardon her. Dir. Must I return the Prince this killing news? Eur. No gentle Dircus, stay a little while, 'twill not be long before the King return, I'll move him once again. Dir. Your highness' pardon, Not for the world would I delay the time— Upon uncertainties; I fear I have Already stayed too long. My quick return Is th' only means to keep the prince alive. Please it your highness then when I am gone To move the King, and fear not, gracious madam, The PRINCE's life a while howe'er. Exit Dircus. Eur. Farewell, True faithful Dircus, all the gods assist Thy good intents, and bless thy loyalty. Enter Creon. Cre. What, weeping still? Eur. Would I could weep myself Like Niobe to marble, and become A woeful tomb to Aemon, whom my womb With fates disastrous brought into the world, My virtuous Aemon, Cre. Why, is Aemon dead? Eur. Why do you ask, that mean to murder him? Cre. How? murder him? Eur. Yes in Antigone His most inseparable love. Cre. Must then Th'audacious giglot, live unpunished, To brave a King? Eur. Were kings ordained to kill Virtues true servants, and control her laws? Enter Tiresias, Chorus senum. Tir. Where is the king? Cre. he's here. What mischief now Com'st thou to utter, never from thy tongue Flowed any good to me. Tir. A guilty man Was never pleased with truth, but hear me, Creon. I come to thee sent from the wrathful gods To let thee know thy guilt, and punishment. Great plagues from heaven, if Tiresias Truly divine, are threatened 'gainst thy house. When I for thee unthankful man prepared A sacrifice within, the opened beast No signs but sad and fatal did afford. None but th' infernal gods deigned to appear. The blood was black, the burning entrails gave No flame at all, but darkly did consume, Mouldering away to ashes, and with black Unsavoury smoke clouded the fearful air. Unto our augury no birds at all But sad, and baleful birds of night appeared. Nor to our orisons would th'invoked gods Vouchsafe an answer, but in signs alone Declared their wrath. The cause of these their threats Against thy house is for thy cruelty To good Antigone, and if she die These plagues will surely fall. Eur. Can we avoid them. By sparing her? Tir. The gods above relent At humane penitence, and hear their prayers, Nor like the fiends are they inexorable. Eur. No longer, Creon, shalt thou now deny me Since heaven is joined with my petition. Tir. You are not constant in persisting thus, But obstinate. Eur. Now I renew my suit. Cho. In which we bend our knees, release, O king, For Thebes, for Aemons sake, that virtuous maid, And to prevent a fierce and cruel war, Vouchsafe to grant our suit, and give us leave To bury those dead Grecians in the field. Cre. No more of them; that last must not be granted, For our command is passed too far already, And must be justified, not changed now. But for the life of that Antigone, Although it cannot suit well with our justice To pardon her rebellious stubbornness, Yet she is thine Eurydice, to thee Do we refer her wholly; take this ring, And absolute power to dispose of her, Either to pardon, or to punishment. Eur. The gods reward thee for't; I'll go myself And bring her out with speed from that sad place; Heaven grant that grief have not already killed her. Nuntius, Creon. Nun. To arms, my Lord, if any arms so soon Can rescue Thebes from quick destruction. The mighty Theseus threatens you at hand. Creon. Why let him come: Should I esteem the name Of Theseus such a bugbear it should fright Me from my constant resolution? Have our late conquests, have the overthrows Of Argos and Mycenae taught the world Nothing of us? look on you purple fields With slaughter died, and learn what Thebes can do, Where Capanaeus, and stout Tydeus Parthenopaeus and Hippomedon Lie weltering in their gores, and should we then So tremble at the threats of Theseus? No power must daunt me; 'tis not Kingly now Upon constraint to change my rough decree. Though I relented now, though my soft breast Were moved with piety, yet thought of honour Would conquer that, as now it conquers fear, The fear of Theseus' hand; nor have I left A place for wisdom now; it comes too late; I must prevent or meet my instant fate. Dircus Aemon. Dir. Yonder's the tomb, my Lord, which though it seem Too hard, and solid for our strength to force, I know a place will open presently. Aem. Then let us break this wealthy Cabinet, And take from thence a jewel, which the ransom Of all the Kings on earth would be a price too poor to purchase: Knew'st thou, happy cave, Or knew the world what true unvalued wealth Thy bare unpolished bosom did contain, Thou wouldst despise the richest temples reared On Marble Columns, and high-roofed with gold; To thee would men with adoration come As to a place more sacred than the cave That nourished Cretan jove, than Bacchus Nisa, Or the Oetaean Mount, from whence in flames The great Alcides mounted to the sky. But I forget myself, I first must know Whether I live or no; for in that cave, Not here does. Aemon breath. Antigone. Anti. Who calls Antigone? is it my Aemon? Aem. Dircus I live; heardst thou that heavenly voice Which has inspired a happier life into me Than my creation did. let's lose no time In this sweet business. Dir. I'll ope the tomb Immediately, my Lord. Aem. Sad Thebes adieu, I'll find some happier country to convey My envied treasure to. Possessed of her I shall be richer than the Theban crown Can make me; speak how fares my fairest love; Shall we be gone? Ant. I would, my dearest Aemon, Begone with thee rather then live; but fate Too cruel, fate prevents it. Aem. How? what fate Can let our journey, if thy love consent? Anti. I love thee, Aemon, better than my life, And never truly wished to live till now, But now I cannot live. Aem. Oh do not mock My joys, Antigone, or if thou dost not, Tell me what sad disaster can befall. Anti. That sad disaster is befallen already; Fearing the pains that such a lingering death Might bring upon me, I have ta'en already A gentle poison down, which long before 'Gainst some such dire occasion I prepared, I feel it work; my vital spirits fail. My dearest love farewell. Live long and happy; Let fate hereafter recompense to thee whate'er her cruelty 'gainst me has wrought. Aem. No fate can make me happy, I am lost Beyond her cure. Dir. What end of tragedies Can woeful Thebes for ever hope to see After this sorrow. Oh I more than fear The PRINCE's fury; Aem. Her white soul is fled. What unsubstantial bubbles are the best Of humane joys? how from the top of all My hopes and comforts in one fatal minute Has envious fortune thrown me down again Into the depth of misery, and woe. Oh fortune how extreme thou art in all Thy favours and thy frowns! Dir. Most noble prince, Collect that strength of man, which all the world Expects from you, and arm yourself to bear With fitting patience this calamity. The passive fortitude is great and noble As is the active. Aem. Strike that string no more, Do not in vain torment a desperate man With thy dull counsel: 'tis as possible Thou shouldst persuade a dead man to arise After his soul is fled, as me to live. Now she is dead, I do conjure thee Dircus By all the love thou bear'st me, by that faith Which I have ever found and prized in thee, To leave me here. Dir. My Lord, I will obey; And thus I take my leave. dies. Aem. Too cruel Dircus. Was I not miserable enough before, But thou must load my sufferings with thy death? What cause hadst thou to die? thou hast not lost A love, why should my loss extend so far As to the ruin of so brave a friend? Thy death has injured fair Antigone, And made a strange Division in my grief. For all the sorrow which this breast could hold, Was due to her before. I must encroach Upon her right in spending tears for thee. My breast's too narrow for so great a grief, And must be quickly opened. Thou pure soul Of my Antigone, which still surviv'st, Though this fair palace be demolished quite By deaths ungentle hand, thou heavenly substance, True object of a chaste, and spotless love, Thy Aemon comes; and from these bonds of nature Flies forth to meet thee in the other world, To wed thee there; to finish there the rites Of long-crossed love, and taste eternal sweets. dies. janthus, Aephytus, Eurydice. Ian. Oh horrid spectacle! see Aephytus, The Prince, Antigone, and Dircus dead. Aeph. All dead? Eur. Ay me. Ian. Look to the Queen, she swoons Aephy. Alas, 'tis more than so; cold death has seized her I fear, beyond recovery, Let's in, And certify the King, who now may see. The dire effects of his rash cruelty. Theseus, Chorus Thebanorum. The. Our war's already ended, and the death Of savage Creon, whose dire soul is fled To pacify the Argives wandering ghosts, Hath satisfied our justice, here we sheathe Our sword again, and free your town from fears. And now enterre with fitting obsequies The Carcases of all your slaughtered foes. Let cruel Creon too, though he at all Deserve it not, have rites of funeral. Cre. Those pious rites will we perform with joy, And thanks to mighty Theseus, may the Gods. Assist thee ever; and great Hercules Beholding thy brave actions from the sky Rejoice, and not disdain at all to be Esteemed thy equal by posterity. The. Send back Argia to her father's court With fair attendance; and 'tis left to you To place the Theban sceptre where 'tis due. Cho. Thebes humbly bows to mighty Theseus, And lays her crown and sceptre at his feet. The. No; still let Thebes be governed by her own; 'twas not our wars intention to enthrall Your land, but free it from a tyrant's yoke; And to preserve the conquered, not destroy them. We drew the sword of justice, not of conquest, Ambitiously to spread our Kingdoms bounds, But to avenge the laws of nature broke; This act being done, Theseus is peace again. soldier's march on to Athens. Thebes adieu. Now let mankind enjoy a happy peace; Oh let no monsters breed on earth, to glut Themselves with human slaughter, let no thieves Infest the woods; no tyrants stain the cities With blood of innocents? but if such monsters Must needs be bred to plague the wretched earth, 'Gainst nature, and her holy laws to strive, Let them appear while Theseus is alive. FINIS. LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper, for Benjamin Fisher, and are to be sold at his shop, at the sign of the Talbot, without Aldersgate. 1631.