*[start of Section 7: Lines 701-878]
Soon shall we know, better than seer can tell.
Learning may fixed decree anent thy bride,
Thou mean’st not, son, to rave against thy sire?
Know’st not whate’er we do is done in love?
O father, I am thine, and I will take
Thy wisdom as the helm to steer withal.
Therefore no wedlock shall by me be held
More precious than thy loving goverance.
Well spoken: so right-minded sons should feel,
In all deferring to a father’s will.
For ’tis the hope of parents they may rear
A brood of sons submissive, keen to avenge
Their father’s wrongs, and count his friends their own.
But who begets unprofitable sons,
He verily breeds trouble for himself,
And for his foes much laughter. Son, be warned
And let no woman fool away thy wits.
Ill fares the husband mated with a shrew,
And her embraces very soon wax cold.
For what can wound so surely to the quick
As a false friend? So spue and cast her off,
Bid her go find a husband with the dead.
For since I caught her openly rebelling,
Of all my subjects the one malcontent,
I will not prove a traitor to the State.
She surely dies. Go, let her, if she will,
Appeal to Zeus the God of Kindred, for
If thus I nurse rebellion in my house,
Shall not I foster mutiny without?
For whoso rules his household worthily,
Will prove in civic matters no less wise.
But he who overbears the laws, or thinks
To overrule his rulers, such as one
I never will allow. Whome’er the State
Appoints must be obeyed in everything,
But small and great, just and unjust alike.
I warrant such a one in either case
Would shine, as King or subject; such a man
Would in the storm of battle stand his ground,
A comrade leal and true; but Anarchy–
What evils are not wrought by Anarchy!
She ruins States, and overthrows the home,
She dissipates and routs the embattled host;
While discipline preserves the ordered ranks.
Therefore we must maintain authority
And yield to title to a woman’s will.
Better, if needs be, men should cast us out
Than hear it said, a woman proved his match.
To me, unless old age have dulled wits,
Thy words appear both reasonable and wise.
Father, the gods implant in mortal men
Reason, the choicest gift bestowed by heaven.
‘Tis not for me to say thou errest, nor
Would I arraign thy wisdom, if I could;
And yet wise thoughts may come to other men
And, as thy son, it falls to me to mark
The acts, the words, the comments of the crowd.
The commons stand in terror of thy frown,
And dare not utter aught that might offend,
But I can overhear their muttered plaints,
Know how the people mourn this maiden doomed
For noblest deeds to die the worst of deaths.
When her own brother slain in battle lay
Unsepulchered, she suffered not his corse
To lie for carrion birds and dogs to maul:
Should not her name (they cry) be writ in gold?
Such the low murmurings that reach my ear.
O father, nothing is by me more prized
Than thy well-being, for what higher good
Can children covet than their sire’s fair fame,
As fathers too take pride in glorious sons?
Therefore, my father, cling not to one mood,
And deemed not thou art right, all others wrong.
For whoso thinks that wisdom dwells with him,
That he alone can speak or think aright,
Such oracles are empty breath when tried.
The wisest man will let himself be swayed
By others’ wisdom and relax in time.
See how the trees beside a stream in flood
Save, if they yield to force, each spray unharmed,
But by resisting perish root and branch.
The mariner who keeps his mainsheet taut,
And will not slacken in the gale, is like
To sail with thwarts reversed, keel uppermost.
Relent then and repent thee of thy wrath;
For, if one young in years may claim some sense,
I’ll say ’tis best of all to be endowed
With absolute wisdom; but, if that’s denied,
(And nature takes not readily that ply)
Next wise is he who lists to sage advice.
If he says aught in season, heed him, King.
Heed thou thy sire too; both have spoken well.
What, would you have us at our age be schooled,
Lessoned in prudence by a beardless boy?
I plead for justice, father, nothing more.
Weigh me upon my merit, not my years.
Strange merit this to sanction lawlessness!
For evil-doers I would urge no plea.
Is not this maid an arrant law-breaker?
The Theban commons with one voice say, No.
What, shall the mob dictate my policy?
‘Tis thou, methinks, who speakest like a boy.
Am I to rule for others, or myself?
A State for one man is no State at all.
The State is his who rules it, so ’tis held.
As monarch of a desert thou wouldst shine.
This boy, methinks, maintains the woman’s cause.
If thou be’st woman, yes. My thought’s for thee.
O reprobate, would’st wrangle with thy sire?
Because I see thee wrongfully perverse.
And am I wrong, if I maintain my rights?
Talk not of rights; thou spurn’st the due of Heaven
O heart corrupt, a woman’s minion thou!
Slave to dishonor thou wilt never find me.
Thy speech at least was all a plea for her.
And thee and me, and for the gods below.
Living the maid shall never be thy bride.
So she shall die, but one will die with her.
Hast come to such a pass as threaten me?
What threat is this, vain counsels to reprove?
Vain fool to instruct thy betters; thou shall rue it.
Wert not my father, I had said thou err’st.
Play not the spaniel, thou a woman’s slave.
When thou dost speak, must no man make reply?
This passes bounds. By heaven, thou shalt not rate
And jeer and flout me with impunity.
Off with the hateful thing that she may die
At once, beside her bridegroom, in his sight.
Think not that in my sight the maid shall die,
Or by my side; never shalt thou again
Behold my face hereafter. Go, consort
With friends who like a madman for their mate.
Thy son has gone, my liege, in angry haste.
Fell is the wrath of youth beneath a smart.
Let him go vent his fury like a fiend:
These sisters twain he shall not save from death.
Surely, thou meanest not to slay them both?
I stand corrected; only her who touched
And what death is she to die?
She shall be taken to some desert place
By man untrod, and in a rock-hewn cave,
With food no more than to avoid the taint
That homicide might bring on all the State,
Buried alive. There let her call in aid
The King of Death, the one god she reveres,
Or learn too late a lesson learnt at last:
‘Tis labor lost, to reverence the dead.