Chorus: (singing) Thou wert thyself for making others perish; endure
thy retribution; 'tis only the penalty of thy own deeds thou art paying.
Who was he, weak son of man, that aimed his silly saying at the blessed
gods of heaven with impious blasphemy, maintaining that they are weaklings
after all?
Old friends, our godless foe is now no more.
The house is still; let us to our dancing.
Yea, for fortune smiles upon my friends as I desire.
(strophe 1)
Dances and banquets now prevail throughout the holy town of Thebes.
For release from tears and respite from sorrow give birth to song.
The upstart king is dead and gone; our former monarch now is prince,
having made his way even from the bourn of Acheron. Hope beyond all
expectation is fulfilled.
(antistrophe 1)
To heed the right and wrong is heaven's care. 'Tis their gold and
their good luck that lead men's hearts astray, bringing in their train
unholy tyranny. For no man ever had the courage to reflect what reverses
time might bring; but, disregarding law to gratify lawlessness, he
shatters in gloom the car of happiness.
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