Monologue

Creon Monologue from Antigone

From Antigone by Sophocles

male · defiant · 1:00 min

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Old man, ye all let fly at me your shafts Like anchors at a target; yea, ye set Your soothsayer on me. Peddlers are ye all And I the merchandise ye buy and sell. Go to, and make your profit where ye will, Silver of Sardis change for gold of Ind; Ye will not purchase this man’s burial, Not though the winged ministers of Zeus Should bear him in their talons to his throne; Not e’en in awe of prodigy so dire Would I permit his burial, for I know No human soilure can assail the gods; This too I know, Teiresias, dire’s the fall Of craft and cunning when it tries to gloss Foul treachery with fair words for filthy gain.

About this piece

Creon confronts the council and defends his decision regarding the burial of Polynices, expressing his disdain for their criticisms and the manipulation of prophecy.

50s · anger · power · betrayal · honor · fate

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