The man is gone, my king, leaving dire prophecies behind. And for all the time that I have had this hair on my head, now white, once dark, I know that he has never been a false prophet to our city.

I, too, know it well, and my mind is troubled. To yield is terrible, but, to resist, to strike my pride with ruin—this, too, inspires terror.

The moment, Creon, requires that you reason wisely.

What should I do, then? Speak, and I will obey.

Go and free the girl from her hollowed chamber. Then raise a tomb for the unburied dead.

And you recommend this? You think that I should yield?

Yes, my king, and with all possible speed. For harms sent from the gods swiftly cut short the follies of men.

Ah, it is a struggle, but I depart from my heart's resolve and obey. We must not wage vain wars with necessity.

Go, do these things and do not leave their performance to others.

Right away I will go. Go, go, my servants, each and all of you! Take axes in your hands,and hurry to that place there in view! But since my judgment has taken this turn, I will be there to set her free, as I myself confined her. I am held by the fear that it is best to keep the established laws to life's very end.