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EURIPIDES.
Teiresias.
Thine ills—but great salvation for thy land.
Kreon.
I hearkened not!—heard not!—away, thou Thebes!
Teiresias.
Not the same man is this: he flincheth now.920
Kreon.
Depart in peace: thy bodings need I not.
Teiresias.
Is truth dead, for that thou art fortune-crost?
Kreon.
Oh, by thy knees, and by thy reverend hair!—
Teiresias.
Why pray me? Bow[1] to ills inevitable.
Kreon.
Keep silence: to the city tell not this.925
Teiresias.
Thou bidd'st me sin: I will not hold my peace.
Kreon.
What wilt thou do to me?—wilt slay my son?
Teiresias.
Others shall see to that. 'Tis mine to speak.
- ↑ Reading αἴνει vice αἰτεῖ, "ills inevitable thou cravest."
