Translated by F. Storr. From the Loeb Library Edition, Originally published by Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA and William Heinemann Ltd, London. First published in 1912.
Teiresias:
Lord of the State and savior, thanks to me.
Creon:
Skilled prophet art thou, but to wrong inclined.
Teiresias:
Take heed, thou wilt provoke me to reveal
The mystery deep hidden in my breast.
Creon:
Say on, but see it be not said for gain.
Teiresias:
Such thou, methinks, till now hast judged my words.
Creon:
Be sure thou wilt not traffic on my wits.
Teiresias:
Know then for sure, the coursers of the sun
Not many times shall run their race, before
Thou shalt have given the fruit of thine own loins
In quittance of thy murder, life for life;
For that thou hast entombed a living soul,
And sent below a denizen of earth,
And wronged the nether gods by leaving here
A corpse unlaved, unwept, unsepulchered.
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