Find that man, bring him here to me, or your death Will be the least of your problems:
I’d like nothing better than bringing him the man But bring him or not, you have seen the last of me here. At any rate, I am safe!
She was burying him, I tell you!
I do. I deny nothing.
And you, Antigone, You with your head hanging––do you confess this thing?
I will carry her far away Out there in the wilderness, and lock her Living in a vault of stone. She shall have food, As the custom is, to absolve the State of her death. And there let her pray to the gods of hell
What shall I do?
Go quickly: free Antigone from her vault And build a tomb for the body of Polyneices.
They are dead. The living are guilt of their death.