Messenger monologue — Specimens of Greek Tragedy — Aeschylus and Sophocles

Good lady, I was witness of the scene, And nothing will suppress in my report. Why tell a flattering tale, when soon the lie Must be exposed? Plain truth is ever best. I went as an attendant with the King To yon high level where, a prey to dogs, The uncared-for corpse of Polynices lay. The corpse, with prayers put up to Hecate And Pluto to look kindly on the dead, We reverently washed, wrapped the remains In fresh-plucked boughs, and burned them on a pyre. Then on the dead we heaped his native earth. Next to the maiden's bridal bower of death, Within the hollowed rock, we took our way. One of us hears afar a wailing shrill Come from the spot where lay the unhallowed cell. And running, tells to Creon what he heard. To Creon's ear, as he drew nigh, was borne A sound confused of weeping, and he cried In bitterness, "Unhappy that I am, Will my heart prove a prophet? Have I come The most disastrous journey of my life? Sure it is my son's voice that greets my ear. Attendants, hasten to the cave of death, Tear up the stones, creep to the chamber's mouth, Tell me if Haemon's voice indeed I hear, Or is it some illusion of my sense?" We as our master in his anguish bade, Looked in, and in the inmost cell we saw The maiden hanging from the roof and dead, A noose of shredded linen round her neck; The youth, his arms folded around her waist, Bewailing his lost bride, his marriage hour Turned to despair, his father's cruelty. Seeing him, Creon, with a bitter cry, Moved towards him, and in anguish shrieked to him, "My son, what hast thou done? what frantic thought Possessed thy mind, how wast thou thus distraught? Come forth, I do entreat thee, son, come forth." Haemon, for answer, with eyes flashing rage, Looked mute abhorrence, drew his two-edged sword, And would have struck his father; but the King Fled and escaped. Then on himself he turned His wrath, and without more, into his breast Drove to the hilt his sword, and conscious still, Clung round the maiden with his failing arms, While, swiftly welling from his wound, the blood Spread over her pale cheek its crimson shower. There lies he dead, with arms around the dead, His marriage feast held in the world below, Teaching by sad example that the worst Of human evils is a mind distraught.