ACT III.
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CENE I.--_A dark Grove._ _Enter_ CREON _and_ DIOCLES. _Cre._ 'Tis better not to be, than be unhappy. _Dioc._ What mean you by these words? _Cre._ 'Tis better not to be, than to be Creon.A thinking soul is punishment enough;But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too,Then every thought draws blood. _Dioc._ You are not wretched. _Cre._ I am: my soul's ill married to my body.I would be young, be handsome, be beloved:Could I but breathe myself into Adrastus!-- _Dioc._ You rave; call home your thoughts. _Cre._ I pr'ythee let my soul take air a while;Were she in OEdipus, I were a king;Then I had killed a monster, gained a battle,And had my rival prisoner; brave, brave actions!Why have not I done these? _Dioc._ Your fortune hindered. _Cre._ There's it; I have a soul to do them all:But fortune will have nothing done that's great,But by young handsome fools; body and brawnDo all her work: Hercules was a fool,And straight grew famous; a mad boist'rous fool,Nay worse, a woman's fool;Fool is the stuff, of which heaven makes a hero. _Dioc._ A serpent ne'er becomes a flying dragon,Till he has eat a serpent[7]. _Cre._ Goes it there?I understand thee; I must kill Adrastus. _Dioc._ Or not enjoy your mistress:Eurydice and he are prisoners here,But will not long be so: This tell-tale ghostPerhaps will clear 'em both. _Cre._ Well: 'tis resolved. _Dioc._ The princess walks this way;You must not meet her,Till this be done. _Cre._ I must. _Dioc._ She hates your sight;And more, since you accused her. _Cre._ Urge it not.I cannot stay to tell thee my design;For she's too near. _Enter_ EURYDICE. How, madam, were your thoughts employed? _Eur._ On death, and thee. _Cre._ Then were they not well sorted: Life and meHad been the better match. _Eur._ No, I was thinkingOn two the most detested things in nature:And they are death and thee. _Cre._ The thought of death to one near death is dreadful!O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more;Or, if to be, to wander after death;To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day;And when the darkness comes, to glide in pathsThat lead to graves; and in the silent vault,Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it,Striving to enter your forbidden corps,And often, often, vainly breathe your ghostInto your lifeless lips;Then, like a lone benighted traveller,Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answeredBy whistling winds, whose every blast will shakeYour tender form to atoms. _Eur._ Must I be this thin being? and thus wander?No quiet after death! _Cre._ None: You must leaveThis beauteous body; all this youth and freshnessMust be no more the object of desire,But a cold lump of clay;Which then your discontented ghost will leave,And loath its former lodging.This is the best of what comes after death.Even to the best. _Eur._ What then shall be thy lot?--Eternal torments, baths of boiling sulphur,Vicissitudes of fires, and then of frosts;And an old guardian fiend, ugly as thou art,To hollow in thy ears at every lash,--This for Eurydice; these for her Adrastus! _Cre._ For her Adrastus! _Eur._ Yes; for her Adrastus:For death shall ne'er divide us: Death? what's death! _Dioc._ You seemed to fear it. _Eur._ But I more fear Creon:To take that hunch-backed monster in my arms!The excrescence of a man! _Dioc. to Cre._ See what you've gained. _Eur._ Death only can be dreadful to the bad:To innocence, 'tis like a bug-bear dressedTo frighten children; pull but off his masque,And he'll appear a friend. _Cre._ You talk too slightlyOf death and hell. Let me inform you better. _Eur._ You best can tell the news of your own country. _Dioc._ Nay, now you are too sharp. _Eur._ Can I be so to one, who has accused meOf murder and of parricide? _Cre._ You provoked me:And yet I only did thus far accuse you,As next of blood to Laius: Be advised,And you may live. _Eur._ The means? _Cre._ 'Tis offered you.The fool Adrastus has accused himself. _Eur._ He has indeed, to take the guilt from me. _Cre._ He says he loves you; if he does, 'tis well:He ne'er could prove it in a better time. _Eur._ Then death must be his recompence for love? _Cre._ 'Tis a fool's just reward;The wise can make a better use of life.But 'tis the young man's pleasure; his ambition:I grudge him not that favour. _Eur._ When he's dead,Where shall I find his equal! _Cre._ Every where.Fine empty things, like him, the court swarms with them.Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common,Crows feed on nothing else: plenty of fools;A glut of them in Thebes.And fortune still takes care they should be seen:She places 'em aloft, o'th' topmost spokeOf all her wheel. Fools are the daily workOf nature; her vocation; if she formA man, she loses by't, 'tis too expensive;'Twould make ten fools: A man's a prodigy. _Eur._ That is, a Creon: O thou black detractor,Who spit'st thy venom against gods and men!Thou enemy of eyes;Thou, who lov'st nothing but what nothing loves,And that's thyself; who hast conspired againstMy life and fame, to make me loathed by all,And only fit for thee.But for Adrastus' death,--good Gods, his death!--What curse shall I invent? _Dioc._ No more: he's here. _Eur._ He shall be ever here.He who would give his life, give up his fame-- _Enter_ ADRASTUS.
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