Sleep cannot lull him, nor the effortless long months Of the timeless gods: but he is young for ever, And his house is the shining day of high Olympos. All that is and shall be, And all the past, is his. No pride on earth is free of the curse of heaven.
The straying dreams of men May bring them ghosts of joy: But as they drowse, the waking embers burn them; Or they walk with fíxed éyes, as blind men walk. But the ancient wisdom speaks for our own time: Fate works most for woe With Folly's fairest show. Man's little pleasure is the spring of sorrow.
CHORAGOS. But here is Haimon, King, the last of all your sons. Is it grief for Antigonê that brings him here, And bitterness at being robbed of his bride?
CREON. We shall soon see, and no need of diviners. --Son, You have heard my final judgment on that girl: Have you come here hating me, or have you come With deference and with love, whatever I do?
HAIMON. I am your son, father. You are my guide. You make things clear for me, and I obey you. No marriage means more to me than your continuing wisdom.
CREON. Good. That is the way to behave: subordinate Everything else, my son, to your father's will. This is what a man prays for, that he may get Sons attentive and dutiful in his house, Each one hating his father's enemies, Honouring his father's friends. But if his sons Fail him, if they turn out unprofitably, What has he fathered but trouble for himself And amusement for the malicious? So you are right Not to lose your head over this woman. Your pleasure with her would soon grow cold, Haimon, And then you'd have a hellcat in bed and elsewhere.