Perhaps you are a king, but I reign too in words. I'll have my equal say. I'm not your servant. No, I serve Apollo. So don't ever mark me down as Creon's myrmidon. I'm blind, you say; you mock at that! I say you see and still are blind-appallingly: Blind to your origins and to a union in your house. Yes, ask yourself where you are from? What portless port this palace and this marriage was you made, scudding in before a lucky breeze? What flood of sorrows-ah! you do not dream will pull you down and level off your pride
To make it match your children and the creature that you are. Go on them, hurl abuse at everything that I or Creon say.

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