g narrows of the deep!

Come, leader of the starry quire II 2
Quick-panting with their breath of fire!
Lord of high voices of the night,
Child born to him who dwells in light,
Appear with those who, joying in their madness,
Honour the sole dispenser of their gladness,
Thyiads of the Aegean main
Night-long trooping in thy train.

_Enter_ Messenger.

MESS. Neighbours of Cadmus and Amphion's halls,
No life of mortal, howsoe'er it stand,
Shall once have praise or censure from my mouth;
Since human happiness and human woe
Come even as fickle Fortune smiles or lours;
And none can augur aught from what we see.
Creon erewhile to me was enviable,
Who saved our Thebe from her enemies;
Then, vested with supreme authority,
Ruled her aright; and flourish'd in his home
With noblest progeny. What hath he now?
Nothing. For when a man is lost to joy,
I count him not to live, but reckon him
A living corse. Riches belike are his,
Great riches and the appearance of a King;
But if no gladness come to him, all else
Is shadow of a vapour, weighed with joy.

CH. What new affliction heaped on sovereignty
Com'st thou to tell?

MESS. They are dead; and they that live
Are guilty of the death.

CH. The slayer, who?
And who the slain? Declare.

MESS. Haemon is dead,
And by a desperate hand.

CH. His own, or Creon's?

MESS. By his own hand, impelled with violent wrath
At Creon for the murder of the maid.

CH. Ah, Seer! how surely didst thou aim thy word!

MESS. So stands the matter. Make of it what ye list.

CH. See, from the palace cometh close to us
Creon's unhappy wife, Eurydice.
Is it by chance, or heard she of her son?

_Enter_ EURYDICE.

EURYDICE. Ye men of Thebes, the tidings met mine ear
As I was coming forth to visit Pallas
With prayerful salutation. I was loosening
The bar of the closed gate, when the sharp sound
Of mine own sorrow smote against my heart,
And I fell back astonied on my maids
And fainted. But the tale? tell me once more;
I am no novice in adversity.

MESS. Dear lady, I will tell thee what I saw,
And hide no grain of truth: why should I soothe
Thy spirit with soft tales, when the harsh fact
Must prove me a liar? Truth is always best.
I duly led the footsteps of thy lord
To the highest point of the plain, where still was lying,
Forlorn and mangled by the dogs, the corse
Of Polynic