Oedipus the King

   
Enter ŒDIPUS


ŒDIPUS;  WHY sit ye here, my children, brood last reared      
Of Cadmus famed of old, in solemn state,      
Uplifting in your hands the suppliants’ boughs?      
And all the city reeks with incense smoke,           4   
And all re-echoes with your wailing hymns;      
And I, my children, counting it unmeet      
To hear report from others, I have come      
Myself, whom all name Œdipus the Great.—           8   
Do thou, then, agèd Sire, since thine the right      
To speak for these, tell clearly why ye stand      
Awe-stricken, or adoring; speak to me      
As willing helper. Dull and cold this heart           12   
To see you prostrate thus, and feel no ruth.      
    
PRIEST  Yes, Œdipus, thou ruler of my land,      
Thou seest us how we sit, as suppliants, bowed      
Around thine altars; some as yet unfledged           16   
To wing their flight, and some weighed down with age.      
Priest, I, of Zeus, and these the chosen youth:      
And in the open spaces of the town      
The people sit and wail, with wreath in hand,           20   
By the twin shrine of Pallas, or the grove      
Oracular that bears Ismenus’ name.      
For this our city, as thine eyes may see,      
Is sorely tempest-tossed, nor lifts its head           24   
From out the surging sea of blood-flecked waves,      
All smitten in the fruitful blooms of earth,      
All smitten in the herds that graze the fields,      
Yea, and in timeless births of woman’s fruit;           28   
And still the God sends forth his darts of fire,      
And lays us low. The plague, abhorred and feared,      
Makes desolate the home where Cadmus dwelt,      
And Hades dark grows rich in sighs and groans.           32   
It is not that we count thee as a God,      
Equalled with them in power, that we sit here,      
These little ones and I, as suppliants prone;      
But, judging thee, in all life’s shifting scenes,           36   
Chiefest of men, yea, and of chiefest skill,      
To soothe the powers of Heaven. For thou it was      
That freed’st this city, named of Cadmus old,      
From the sad tribute which of yore we paid           40   
To that stern songstress, all untaught of us,      
And all unprompted; but at God’s behest,      
Men think and say, thou guidest all our life.      
And now, O Œdipus, most honoured lord,           44   
We pray thee, we, thy suppliants, find for us      
Some succour, whether floating voice of God,      
Or speech of man brings knowledge to thy soul;      
For still I see, with those whom life has trained           48   
To long-tried skill, the issues of their thoughts      
Live and are mighty. Come, then, noblest one,      
Come, save our city; look on us, and fear.      
As yet this land, for all thy former zeal,           52   
Calls thee its saviour: do not give us cause      
So to remember this thy reign, as men      
Who, having risen, then fall low again;      
But save us, save our city. Omens good           56   
Were then with thee; thou didst thy work, and now      
Be equal to thyself! If thou wilt rule,      
As thou dost rule, this land wherein we dwell,      
’Twere better far to reign o’er living men           60   
Than o’er a realm dispeopled. Naught avails,      
Or tower or ship, when crew and guards are gone.      
    
ŒDIP.  O children, wailing loud, ye tell me not      
Of woes unknown; too well I know them all,           64   
Your sorrows and your wants. For one and all      
Are stricken, yet no sorrow like to mine      
Weighs on you. Each his own sad burden bears,      
His own and not another’s. But my heart           68   
Mourns for the people’s sorrow and mine own;      
And, lo! ye have not come to break my sleep,      
But found me weeping, weeping bitter tears,      
And treading weary paths in wandering thought;           72   
And that one way of healing which I found,      
That have I acted on. Menœkeus’ son,      
Creon, my kinsman, have I sent to seek      
The Pythian home of Phœbus, there to learn           76   
The words or deeds wherewith to save the state;      
And even now I measure o’er the time      
And wonder how he fares, for, lo! he stays,      
I know not why, beyond the appointed day;           80   
But when he comes I should be base indeed,      
Failing to do whate’er the God declares.      
    
PRIEST  Well hast thou spoken! Tidings come e’en now      
Of Creon seen approaching.           84   
    
ŒDIP.  Grant, O King      
Apollo, that he come with omen good,      
Bright with the cheer of one that bringeth life.      
    
PRIEST  If one may guess, ’tis well. He had not come           88   
His head all wreathed with boughs of laurel else.      
    
ŒDIP.  Soon we shall know. Our voice can reach him now.      
Say, prince, our well-beloved, Menœkeus’ son,      
What sacred answer bring’st thou from the God?           92   
    
Enter CREON


CREON.  A right good answer! That our evil plight,      
If all goes well, may end in highest good.      
    
ŒDIP.  What means this speech? Nor full of eager hope,      
Nor trembling panic, list I to thy words.           96   
    
CREON.  I for my part am ready, these being by,      
to tell thee all, or go within the gates.      
    
ŒDIP.  Speak out to all. I sorrow more for them      
Than for the woe which touches me alone.           100   
    
CREON.  Well, then, I speak the things the God declared.      
Phœbus, our king, he bids us chase away      
(The words were plain) the infection of our land,      
Nor cherish guilt which still remains unhealed.           104   
    
ŒDIP.  But with what rites? And what the deed itself?      
    
CREON.  Drive into exile, blood for blood repay.      
That guilt of blood is blasting all the state.      
    
ŒDIP.  But whose fate is it that thou hintest at?           108   
    
CREON.  Once, O my king, ere thou didst raise our state,      
Our sovereign Laius ruled o’er all the land.      
    
ŒDIP.  This know I well, though him I never saw.      
    
CREON.  Well, then, the God commands us, he being dead,           112   
To take revenge on those who shed his blood.      
    
ŒDIP.  Yes; but where are they? How to track the course      
Of guilt all shrouded in the doubtful past?      
    
CREON.  In this our land, so said he, those who seek           116   
Shall find; unsought, we lose it utterly.      
    
ŒDIP.  Was it at home, or in the field, or else      
In some strange land that Laius met his doom?      
    
CREON.  He went, so spake he, pilgrim-wise afar,           120   
And nevermore came back as forth he went.      
    
ŒDIP.  Was there no courier, none who shared his road,      
From whom, inquiring, one might learn the truth?      
    
CREON.  Dead are they all, save one who fled for fear,           124   
And he had naught to tell but this:…      
    
ŒDIP.  [interrupting] And what was that? One fact might teach us much,      
Had we but one small starting-point of hope.      
    
CREON.  He used to tell that robbers fell on him,           128   
Not man for man, but with outnumbering force.      
    
ŒDIP.  Yet sure no robber would have dared this deed,      
Unless some bribe had tempted him from hence.      
    
CREON.  So men might think; but Laius at his death           132   
Found none to help, or ’venge him in his woe.      
    
ŒDIP.  What hindered you, when thus your sovereignty      
Had fallen low, from searching out the truth?      
    
CREON.  The Sphinx, with her dark riddle, bade us look           136   
At nearer facts, and leave the dim obscure.      
    
ŒDIP.  Well, be it mine to track them to their source.      
Right well hath Phœbus, and right well hast thou,      
Shown for the dead your care, and ye shall find,           140   
As is most meet, in me a helper true,      
Aiding at once my country and the God.      
Not for the sake of friends, or near or far,      
But for mine own, will I dispel this curse;           144   
For he that slew him, whosoe’er he be,      
Will wish, perchance, with such a blow to smite      
Me also. Helping him, I help myself.      
And now, my children, rise with utmost speed           148   
From off these steps, and raise your suppliant boughs;      
And let another call my people here,      
The race of Cadmus, and make known that I      
Will do my taskwork to the uttermost:           152   
So, as God wills, we prosper, or we fail.      
    
PRIEST  Rise, then, my children, ’twas for this we came,      
For these good tidings which those lips have brought,      
And Phœbus, he who sent these oracles,           156   
Pray that he come to heal, and save from woe.  [Exeunt CREON and Priest.      
    

STROPH. I


CHORUS  O voice of Zeus sweet-toned, with what intent      
Cam’st thou from Pytho, where the red gold shines,      
To Thebes, of high estate?           160   
Fainting for fear, I quiver in suspense      
(Hear us, O healer! God of Delos, hear!),      
In brooding dread, what doom, of present growth,      
Or as the months roll on, thy hand will work;           164   
Tell me, O Voice divine, thou child of golden hope!

ANTISTROPH. I


Thee first, Zeus-born Athene, thee I call;      
And next thy sister, Goddess of our land,      
Our Artemis, who in the market sits           168   
In queenly pride, upon her orbed throne;      
And Phœbus, the fair darter! O ye Three,      
Shine on us, and deliver us from ill!      
If e’er before, when waves or storms of woe           172   
Rushed on our state, ye drove away      
The fiery tide of ill,      
Come also now!      
   
STROPH. II


Yea, come, ye Gods, for sorrows numberless           176   
  Press on my soul;      
And all the host is smitten, and our thoughts      
  Lack weapons to resist.      
For increase fails of all the fruits of earth,           180   
And women faint in childbirth’s wailing pangs,      
And one by one, as flit the swift-winged birds,      
So, flitting to the shore of Hades dark,      
Fleeter than lightning’s flash,           184   
Thou seest them passing on.      
   
ANTISTROPH. II


Yea, numberless are they who perish thus,      
And on the soil, plague-breeding, lie      
Infants unpitied, cast out ruthlessly;           188   
And wives and mothers, gray with hoary age,      
Some here, some there, by every altar mourn,      
With woe and sorrow crushed,      
And chant their wailing plaint.           192   
Clear thrills the sense their solemn litany,      
And the low anthem sung in unison.      
Hear, then, thou golden daughter of great Zeus,      
And send us help, bright-faced as is the morn.           196   
   
STROPH. III


And Ares the destroyer drive away!      
Who now, though hushed the din of brazen shield,      
With battle-cry wars on me fierce and hot.      
Bid him go back in flight,           200   
Retreat from this our land,      
Or to the ocean bed,      
Where Amphitrite sleeps,      
Or to the homeless sea           204   
Which sweeps the Thracian shore.      
If waning night spares aught      
That doth the day assail:      
Do thou, then, Sire almighty,           208   
Wielding the lightning’s strength,      
Blast him with thy hot thunder.      
   
ANTISTROPH. III


And thou, Lyceian king, the wolf’s dread foe,      
Fain would I see thy darts           212   
From out thy golden bow      
Go forth invincible,      
Helping and bringing aid;      
And with them, winged with fire,           216   
The rays of Artemis,      
With which, on Lycian hills,      
She moveth on her course.      
And last I call on thee,           220   
Thou of the golden crown,      
Guardian of this our land,      
Bacchus, all purple-flushed,      
With clamour loud and long,           224   
Wandering with Maenads wild;      
I call on thee to come,      
Flashing with blazing torch,      
Against the God whom all the Gods disown.           228   
   
ŒDIP.  Thou prayest, and for thy prayers, if thou wilt hear      
My words, and treat the dire disease with skill,      
Thou shalt find help and respite from thy pain,—      
My words, which I, a stranger to report,           232   
A stranger to the deed, will now declare:      
For I myself should fail to track it far,      
Unless some footprints guided me aright.      
But now, since here I stand, the latest come,           236   
A citizen to citizens, I speak      
To all the sons of Cadmus. Lives there one      
Who knows of Laitus, son of Labdacus,      
The hand that slew him; him I bid to tell           240   
His tale to me; and should it chance he shrinks,      
Fearing the charge against himself to bring,      
Still let him speak; no heavier doom is his      
Than to depart uninjured from the land;           244   
Or, if there be that knows an alien arm      
As guilty, let him hold his peace no more;      
I will secure his gain and thanks beside.      
But if ye hold your peace, if one through fear           248   
Shall stifle words his bosom friend may drop,      
What then I purpose let him hear from me:      
That man I banish, whosoe’er he be,      
From out the land whose power and throne are mine;           252   
And none may give him shelter, none speak to him,      
Nor join with him in prayer and sacrifice,      
Nor pour for him the stream that cleanses guilt;      
But all shall thrust him from their homes, abhorred,           256   
Our curse and our pollution, as the word      
Prophetic of the Pythian God has shown:      
Such as I am, I stand before you here,      
A helper to the God and to the dead.           260   
And for the man who did the guilty deed,      
Whether alone he lurks, or leagued with more,      
I pray that he may waste his life away,      
For vile deeds vilely dying; and for me,           264   
If in my house, I knowing it, he dwells,      
May every curse I speak on my head fall.      
And this I charge you do, for mine own sake,      
And for the God’s, and for the land that pines,           268   
Barren and god-deserted. Wrong ’twould be,      
E’en if no voice from heaven had urged us on,      
That ye should leave the stain of guilt uncleansed,      
Your noblest chief, your king himself, being slain.           272   
Yea, rather, seek and find. And since I reign,      
Wielding the might his hand did wield before,      
Filling his couch, and calling his wife mine,      
Yea, and our children too, but for the fate           276   
That fell on his, had grown up owned by both;      
But so it is. On his head fell the doom;      
And therefore will I strive my best for him,      
As for my father, and will go all lengths           280   
To seek and find the murderer, him who slew      
The son of Labdacus, and Polydore,      
And earlier Cadmus, and Agenor old;      
And for all those who hearken not, I pray           284   
The Gods to give then neither fruit of earth,      
Nor seed of woman, but consume their lives      
With this dire plague, or evil worse than this.      
And you, the rest, the men from Cadmus sprung,           288   
To whom these words approve themselves as good,      
May righteousness befriend you, and the Gods,      
In full accord, dwell with you evermore.      
   
CHORUS  Since thou hast bound me by a curse, O king,           292   
I needs must speak. I neither slew the man,      
Nor know who slew. To say who did the deed      
Belongs to him who sent this oracle.      
   
ŒDIP.  Right well thou speak’st, but man’s best strength must fail           296   
To force the Gods to do the things they will not.      
   
CHORUS  And may I speak a second time my thoughts?      
   
ŒDIP.  If ’twere a third, shrink not from speaking out.      
   
CHORUS  One man I know, a prince, whose insight deep           300   
Sees clear as princely Phœbus, and from him,      
Teiresias, one might learn, O king, the truth.      
   
ŒDIP.  That, too, is done. No loiterer I in this,      
For I have sent, on Creon’s hint, two bands           304   
To summon him, and wonder that he comes not.      
   
CHORUS  Old rumours are there also, dark and dumb.      
   
ŒDIP.  And what are they? I weigh the slightest word.      
   
CHORUS  ’Twas said he died by some chance traveller’s hand.           308   
   
ŒDIP.  I, too, heard that. But none knows who was by.      
   
CHORUS  If yet his soul is capable of awe,      
Hearing thy curses, he will shrink from them.      
   
ŒDIP.  Words fright not him who, doing, knows no fear.           312   
   
CHORUS  Well, here is one who’ll put him to the proof.      
For, lo! they bring the seer inspired of God;      
Chosen of all men, vessel of the truth.

Enter TEIRESIAS, blind, and guided by a boy


ŒDIP.  Teiresias! thou whose mind embraceth all,           316   
Told or untold, the things of heaven or earth;      
Thou knowest, although thou seest not, what a pest      
Dwells on us, and we find in thee, O prince,      
Our one deliverer, yea, our only help.           320   
For Phœbus (if, perchance, thou hast not heard)      
Sent back this word to us, who sent to ask,      
That this one way was open to escape      
From the fell plague; if those who Laius slew,           324   
We in our turn, discovering, should slay,      
Or drive them forth as exiles from the land.      
Thou, therefore, grudge not either sign from birds,      
Or any other path of prophecy;           328   
But save the city, save thyself, save me;      
Lift off the guilt that death has left behind;      
On thee we hang. To use our means, our power,      
In doing good, is noblest service owned.           332   
    
TEIR.  Ah me! ah me! how sad is wisdom’s gift,      
When no good issue waiteth on the wise!      
Right well I knew this, but in evil hour      
Forgot, alas! or else I had not come.           336   
    
ŒDIP.  What means this? How despondingly thou com’st!      
    
TEIR.  Let me go home; for thus thy fate shalt thou,      
And I mine own, bear easiest, if thou yield.      
    
ŒDIP.  No loyal words thou speak’st, nor true to Thebes           340   
Who reared thee, holding back this oracle.      
    
TEIR.  It is because I see thy lips speak words      
Ill-timed, ill-omened, that I guard my speech.      
    
ŒDIP.  Now, by the Gods, unless thy reason fails,           344   
Refuse us not, who all implore thy help.      
    
TEIR.  Yes. Reason fails you all; but ne’er will I      
So speak my sorrows as to unveil thine.      
    
ŒDIP.  What mean’st thou, then? Thou know’st and wilt not tell,           348   
But giv’st to ruin both the state and us?      
    
TEIR.  I will not pain myself nor thee. Why, then,      
All vainly urge it? Thou shalt never know.      
    
ŒDIP.  Oh, basest of the base! (for thou wouldst stir           352   
A heart of stone;) and wilt thou never tell,      
But still abide relentless and unmoved?      
    
TEIR.  My mood thou blamest, but thou dost not know      
That which dwells with thee while thou chidest me.           356   
    
ŒDIP.  And who would not feel anger, as he hears      
The words which bring dishonour to the state?      
    
TEIR.  Well! come they will, though I should hold my peace.      
    
ŒDIP.  If come they must, thy duty is to speak.           360   
    
TEIR.  I speak no more. So, if thou wilt, rage on,      
With every mood of wrath most desperate.      
    
ŒDIP.  Yes; I will not refrain, so fierce my wrath,      
From speaking all my thought. I think that thou           364   
Didst plot the deed, and do it, though the blow      
Thy hands, it may be, dealt not. Hadst thou seen,      
I would have said it was thy deed alone      
    
TEIR.  And it has come to this? I charge thee, hold           368   
To thy late edict, and from this day forth      
Speak not to me, nor yet to these, for thou,      
Thou art the accursèd plague-spot of the land.      
    
ŒDIP.  Art thou so shameless as to vent such words,           372   
And thinkest to escape thy righteous doom?      
    
TEIR.  I have escaped. The strength of truth is mine.      
    
ŒDIP.  Who prompted thee? This comes not from thine art.      
    
TEIR.  Thou art the man. ’Twas thou who mad’st me speak.           376   
    
ŒDIP.  What say’st thou? Tell it yet again, that I      
May know more clearly.      
    
TEIR.  When I spoke before,      
Didst thou not know? Or dost thou challenge me?           380   
    
ŒDIP.  I could not say I knew it. Speak again.      
    
TEIR.  I say that thou stand’st there a murderer.      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou shalt not twice revile, and go unharmed.      
    
TEIR.  And shall I tell thee more to stir thy rage?           384   
    
ŒDIP.  Say what thou pleasest. All in vain ’tis said.      
    
TEIR.  I say that thou, in vilest intercourse      
With those thou lovest best, dost blindly live,      
Nor seest the evil thou hast made thine own.           388   
    
ŒDIP.  And dost thou think to say these things and live?      
    
TEIR.  Of that I doubt not, if truth holds her own.      
    
ŒDIP.  Truth is for all but thee, but thou hast none,      
Blind in thine ears, thy reason, and thine eyes.           392   
    
TEIR.  How wretched thou, thus hurling this reproach!      
Such, all too soon, the world will hurl at thee.      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou livest wrapt in one continual night,      
And canst not hurt or me, or any man           396   
Who sees the light.      
    
TEIR.  Fate’s firm decree stands fixed:      
Thou diest not by me. Apollo’s might      
Suffices. His the task to bring thee low.           400   
    
ŒDIP.  Are these devices Creon’s or thine own?      
    
TEIR.  It is not Creon harms thee, but thyself.      
    
ŒDIP.  O wealth, and sovereignty, and noblest skill      
Surpassing skill in life that men admire,           404   
How great the envy dogging all your steps!      
If for the sake of kingship, which the state      
Hath given, unasked for, freely in mine hands,      
Creon the faithful, found mine earliest friend,           408   
Now seeks with masked attack to drive me forth,      
And hires this wizard, plotter of foul schemes,      
A vagrant mountebank, whose sight is clear      
For pay alone, but in his art stone-blind.           412   
Is it not so? When wast thou known a seer?      
Why, when the monster with her song was here,      
Didst thou not give our countrymen thy help?      
And yet the riddle lay above the ken           416   
Of common men, and called for prophet’s skill.      
And this thou show’dst thou hadst not, nor by bird,      
Nor any God made known; but then I came,      
I, Œdipus, who nothing knew, and slew her,           420   
With mine own counsel winning, all untaught      
By flight of birds. And now thou wouldst expel me,      
And think’st to take thy stand by Creon’s throne.      
But, as I think, both thou and he that plans           424   
With thee, will to your cost attack my fame;      
And but that thou stand’st there all old and weak,      
Thou shouldst be taught what kind of plans are thine.      
    
CHORUS  Far as we dare to measure, both his words           428   
And thine, O Œdipus, in wrath are said.      
Not such as these we need, but this to see,      
How best to do the bidding of the God.      
    
TEIR.  King though thou be, I claim an equal right           432   
To make reply. Here I call no man lord:      
For I am not thy slave, but Loxias’.      
Nor shall I stand on Creon’s patronage;      
And this I say, since thou hast dared revile           436   
My blindness, that thou seest, yet dost not see      
Thy evil plight, nor where thou liv’st, nor yet      
With whom thou dwellest, Know’st thou even this,      
Whence thou art sprung? All ignorant thou sinn’st           440   
Against thine own, the living and the dead.      
And soon a curse from mother and from sire      
With fearful foot shall chase thee forth from us,      
Now seeing all things clear, then all things dark.           444   
And will not then each shore repeat thy wail,      
And will not old Kithæron echoing ring      
When thou discern’st the marriage, fatal port,      
To which thy prosp’rous voyage brought thy bark?           448   
And other ills, in countless multitude,      
Thou seest not yet, on thee and on thy seed      
Shall fall alike. Vent forth thy wrath then loud,      
On Creon and on me. There lives not man           452   
Who wastes his life more wretchedly than thou.      
    
ŒDIP.  This can be borne no longer! Out with thee!      
A curse light on thee! Wilt thou not depart?      
Wilt thou not turn and wend thy backward way?           456   
    
TEIR.  I had not come hadst thou not called me here.      
    
ŒDIP.  I knew not thou wouldst speak so foolishly;      
Else I had hardly fetched thee to my house.      
    
TEIR.  We then, for thee (so deemest thou), are fools,           460   
But, for thy parents, who begot thee, wise.  [Turns to go.      
    
ŒDIP.  [starting forward] What? Stay thy foot. What mortal gave me      
birth?      
    
TEIR.  This day shall give thy birth, and work thy doom.           464   
    
ŒDIP.  What riddles dark and dim thou lov’st to speak.      
    
TEIR.  Yes. But thy skill excels in solving such.      
    
ŒDIP.  Scoff as thou wilt, in this thou’lt find me strong.      
    
TEIR.  And yet success in this has worked thy fall.           468   
    
ŒDIP.  I little care, if I have saved the state.      
    
TEIR.  Well, then, I go. Do thou, boy, lead me on!      
    
ŒDIP.  Let him lead on. So hateful art thou near,      
Thou canst not pain me more when thou art gone.           472   
    
TEIR.  I go, then, having said the things I came      
To say. No fear of thee compels me. Thine      
Is not the power to hurt me. And I say,      
This man whom thou art seeking out with threats,           476   
As murderer of Laius, he is here,      
In show an alien sojourner, but in truth      
A home-born Theban. No delight to him      
Will that discovery bring. Blind, having seen,           480   
Poor, having rolled in wealth,—he, with a staff      
Feeling his way, to other lands shall go!      
And by his sons shall he be known at once      
Father and brother, and of her who bore him           484   
Husband and son, sharing his father’s bed,      
His father’s murd’rer. Go thou, then, within,      
And brood o’er this, and, if thou find’st me fail,      
Say that my skill in prophecy is gone.  [Exeunt ŒDIPUS and TEIRESIAS.           48

STROPH. I


CHORUS  Who was it that the rock oracular      
      Of Delphi spake of, working      
With bloody hand his nameless deed of shame?      
      Time is it now for him,           492   
      Swifter than fastest steed,      
      To bend his course in flight.      
      For, in full armour clad,      
      Upon him darts, with fire           496   
And lightning flash, the radiant Son of Zeus.      
And with him come in train the dreaded ones,      
      The Destinies that may not be appeased.

   
ANTISTROPH. I


For from Parnassus’ heights, enwreathed with snow,           500   
Gleaming, but now there shone      
The oracle that bade us, one and all,      
      Track the unnamed, unknown one.      
For, lo! he wanders through the forest wild,           504   
      In caves and over rocks,      
      As strays the mountain bull,      
In dreary loneliness with dreary tread,      
      Seeking in vain to shun           508   
The words prophetic of the central shrine;      
Yet they around him hover, full of life.      
    
STROPH. II


Dread things, yea, dread, the augur skilled has stirred      
That leave the question open, aye or no!           512   
And which to say I know not,      
But hover still in hopes, and fail to scan      
Things present or to come.      
For neither now nor in the former years           516   
Learnt I what cause of strife      
Set the Labdacid race      
At variance with the house of Polybus.      
Nor can I test the tale,           520   
And take my stand against the well-earned fame      
      Of Œdipus, my lord,      
As champion of the house of Labdacus,      
      For deaths that none may trace!           524   
    
ANTISTROPH. II


For Zeus and King Apollo, they are wise,      
      And know the hearts of men:      
But that a prophet passeth me in skill,      
      This is no judgment true;           528   
And one man may another’s wisdom pass,      
      By wisdom higher still.      
I, for my part, before the word is clear,      
Will ne’er assent to those that speak in blame.           532   
’Tis clear, the Maiden-monster with her wings      
Came on him, and he proved by sharpest test      
That he was wise, by all the land beloved,      
And, from my heart at least,           536   
The charge of baseness comes not.      
    
Enter CREON


CREON.  I come, my friends, as having learnt but now      
Our ruler, Œdipus, accuses me      
With dreadful words I cannot bear to hear.           540   
For if, in these calamities of ours,      
He thinks he suffers wrongly at my hands,      
In word or deed, aught tending to his hurt,      
I set no value on a life prolonged,           544   
If this reproach hangs on me; for its harm      
Affects not slightly, but is direst shame,      
If through the land my name as villain rings,      
By thee and by thy friends a villain called.           548   
    
CHORUS  But this reproach, it may be, came from wrath      
All hasty, rather than from judgment calm.      
    
CREON.  And who informed him that the seer, seduced      
By my false counsel, spoke his lying words?           552   
    
CHORUS  The words were said, but on what grounds I know not.      
    
CREON.  And was it with calm eyes and judgment clear,      
The charge was brought against my name and fame?      
    
CHORUS  I cannot say. To what our rulers do           556   
I close my eyes. But here he comes himself.      
    
Enter ŒDIPUS


ŒDIP.  Ho, there! is’t thou? And does thy boldness soar      
So shameless as to come beneath my roof,      
When thou, ’tis clear, hast done the deed of blood,           560   
And now wilt rob me of my sovereignty?      
Is it, by all the Gods, that thou hast seen      
Or cowardice or folly in my soul,      
That thou hast laid thy plans? Or thoughtest thou           564   
That I should neither see thy sinuous wiles,      
Nor, knowing, ward them off? This scheme of thine,      
Is it not wild, backed nor by force nor friends,      
To seek the power which calls for force or wealth?           568   
    
CREON.  Do as thou pleasest. But for words of scorn      
Hear like words back, and as thou hearest, judge.      
    
ŒDIP.  Cunning of speech art thou! But I am slow      
To learn of thee, whom I have found my foe.           572   
    
CREON.  Hear this, then, first, that thus I have to speak….      
    
ŒDIP.  But this, then, say not, that thou art not vile.      
    
CREON.  If that thou thinkest self-willed pride avails,      
Apart from judgment, know thou art not wise.           576   
    
ŒDIP.  If that thou thinkest, injuring thy friend,      
To do it unchastised, thou art not wise.      
    
CREON.  In this, I grant, thou speakest right; but tell,      
What form of suffering hast thou to endure?           580   
    
ŒDIP.  Didst thou, or didst thou not, thy counsel give      
Some one to send to fetch this reverend seer?      
    
CREON.  And even now by that advice I hold!      
    
ŒDIP.  How long a time has passed since Laius           584   
chanced…  [Pauses.      
    
CREON.  Chanced to do what? I understand not yet.      
    
ŒDIP.  Since he was smitten with the deadly blow?      
    
CREON.  The years would measure out a long, long tale.           588   
    
ŒDIP.  And was this seer then practising his art?      
    
CREON.  Full wise as now, and equal in repute.      
    
ŒDIP.  Did he at that time say a word of me?      
    
CREON.  No word, while I, at any rate, was by.           592   
    
ŒDIP.  And yet ye held your quest upon the dead?      
    
CREON.  Of course we held it, but we nothing heard.      
    
ŒDIP.  How was it he, the wise one, spoke not then?      
    
CREON.  I know not, and, not knowing, hold my peace.           596   
    
ŒDIP.  One thing thou know’st, and, meaning well, wouldst speak!      
    
CREON.  And what is that? for if I know, I’ll speak.      
    
ŒDIP.  Why, unless thou wert in the secret, then      
He spake not of me as the murderer.           600   
    
CREON.  If he says this, thou know’st it. I of thee      
Desire to learn, as thou hast learnt of me.      
    
ŒDIP.  Learn then; no guilt of blood shall rest on me.      
    
CREON.  Well, then,—my sister? dost thou own her wife?           604   
    
ŒDIP.  I will not meet this question with denial.      
    
CREON.  And sharest thou an equal rule with her?      
    
ŒDIP.  Her every wish by me is brought to act.      
    
CREON.  And am not I co-equal with you twain?           608   
    
ŒDIP.  Yes; and just here thou show’st thyself false friend.      
    
CREON.  Not so, if thou wouldst reason with thyself,      
As I must reason. First reflect on this:      
Supposest thou that one would rather choose           612   
To reign with fears than sleeping calmest sleep,      
His power being equal? I, for one, prize less      
The name of king than deeds of kingly power;      
And so would all who learn in wisdom’s school.           616   
Now without fear I have what I desire,      
At thy hand given. Did I rule, myself,      
I might do much unwillingly. Why, then,      
Should sovereignty exert a softer charm           620   
Than power and might unchequered by a care?      
I am not yet so cheated by myself      
As to desire aught else but honest gain.      
Now all goes well, now every one salutes,           624   
Now they who seek thy favour court my smiles,      
For on this hinge does all their fortune turn.      
Why, then, should I leave this to hunt for that?      
My mind, retaining reason, ne’er could act           628   
The villain’s part. I was not born to love      
Such thoughts myself, nor bear with those that do.      
And as a proof of this, go thou thyself,      
And ask at Pytho whether I brought back,           632   
In very deed, the oracles I heard.      
And if thou find me plotting with the seer,      
In common concert, not by one decree,      
But two, thine own and mine, proclaim my death.           636   
But charge me not with crime on shadowy proof;      
For neither is it just, in random thought,      
The bad to count as good, nor good as bad;      
For to thrust out a friend of noble heart,           640   
Is like the parting with the life we love.      
And this in time thou’lt know, for time alone      
Makes manifest the righteous. Of the vile      
Thou mayst detect the vileness in a day.           644

CHORUS  To one who fears to fall, he speaketh well;      
O king, swift counsels are not always safe.      
    
ŒDIP.  But when a man is swift in wily schemes,      
Swift must I be to baffle plot with plot;           648   
And if I stand and wait, he wins the day,      
And all my life is found one great mistake.      
    
CREON.  What seek’st thou, then? to drive me from the land?      
    
ŒDIP.  Not so. I seek not banishment, but death.           652   
    
CREON.  When thou show’st first what grudge I bear to thee?      
    
ŒDIP.  And say’st thou this defying, yielding not?      
    
CREON.  I see thy judgment fails.      
    
ŒDIP.  I hold mine own.           656   
    
CREON.  Mine has an equal claim.      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou villain born!      
    
CREON.  And if thy mind is darkened…?      
    
ŒDIP.  Still obey!           660   
    
CREON.  Not to a tyrant ruler.      
    
ŒDIP.  O my country!      
    
CREON.  I, too, can claim that country. ’Tis not thine!      
    
CHORUS  Cease, O my princes! In good time I see           664   
Jocasta coming hither from the house;      
And it were well with her to hush this strife.      
    
Enter JOCASTA


JOC.  Why, O ye wretched ones, this strife of tongues      
Raise ye in your unwisdom, nor are shamed,           668   
Our country suffering, private griefs to stir?      
Come thou within. And thou, O Creon, go,      
Nor bring a trifling sore to mischief great!      
    
CREON.  My sister! Œdipus, thy husband, claims           672   
The right to wrong me, giving choice of ills,      
Or to be exiled from my home, or die.      
    
ŒDIP.  ’Tis even so, for I have found him, wife,      
Against my life his evil wiles devising.           676   
    
CREON.  May I ne’er prosper, but accursed die,      
If I have done the things he says I did!      
    
JOC.  Oh, by the Gods, believe him, Œdipus!      
Respect his oath, which calls the Gods to hear;           680   
And reverence me, and these who stand by thee.      
    
CHORUS  Hearken, my king! be calmer, I implore!      
    
ŒDIP.  What! wilt thou that I yield?      
    
CHORUS  Respect is due           684   
To one not weak before, who now is strong      
In this his oath.      
    
ŒDIP.  And know’st thou what thou ask’st?      
    
CHORUS  I know right well.           688   
    
ŒDIP.  Say on, then, what thou wilt.      
    
CHORUS  Hurl not to shame, on grounds of mere mistrust,      
The friend on whom his own curse still must hang.      
    
ŒDIP.  Know, then, that, seeking this, thou seek’st, in truth,           692   
To work my death, or else my banishment.      
    
CHORUS  Nay, by the sun, chief God of all the Gods!      
May I, too, die, of God and man accursed,      
If I wish aught like this! But on my soul,           696   
Our wasting land dwells heavily; ills on ills      
Still coming, and your strife embittering all.      
    
ŒDIP.  Let him depart, then, even though I die,      
Or from my country wander forth in shame:           700   
Thy face, not his, I view with pitying eye;      
For him, where’er he be, is naught but hate.      
    
CREON.  Thou’rt loath to yield, ’twould seem, and wilt be vexed      
When this thy wrath is over: moods like thine           704   
Are fitly to themselves most hard to bear.      
    
ŒDIP.  Wilt thou not go, and leave me?      
    
CREON.  I will go,      
By thee misjudged, but known as just by these.  [Exit.           708   
    
CHORUS  Why, lady, art thou slow to lead him in?      
    
JOC.  I fain would learn how this sad chance arose.      
    
CHORUS  Blind hasty speech there was, and wrong will sting.      
    
JOC.  From both of them?           712   
    
CHORUS  Yea, both.      
    
JOC.  And what said each?      
    
CHORUS  Enough for me, our land laid low in grief,      
It seems, to leave the quarrel where it stopped.           716   
    
ŒDIP.  Seest thou, with all thy purposes of good,      
Thy shifting and thy soothing, what thou dost?      
    
CHORUS  My chief, not once alone I spoke,      
And wild and erring should I be,           720   
Were I to turn from thee aside,      
Who, when my country rocked in storm,      
Righted her course, and, if thou couldst,      
Wouldst send her speeding now.           724   
    
JOC.  Tell me, my king, what cause of fell debate      
Has bred this discord, and provoked thy soul.      
    
ŒDIP.  Thee will I tell, for thee I honour more      
Than these. The cause was Creon and his plots.           728   
    
JOC.  Say, then, if clearly thou canst tell the strife.      
    
ŒDIP.  He says that I am Laius’ murderer.      
    
JOC.  Of his own knowledge, or by some one taught?      
    
ŒDIP.  Yon scoundrel seer suborning. For himself,           732   
He takes good care to free his lips from blame.      
    
JOC.  Leave now thyself, and all thy thoughts of this,      
And list to me, and learn how little skill      
In arts prophetic mortal man may claim;           736   
And of this truth I’ll give thee proof full clear.      
There came to Laius once an oracle      
(I say not that it came from Phœbus’ self,      
But from his servants) that his fate was fixed           740   
By his son’s hand to fall—his own and mine:      
And him, so rumour runs, a robber band      
Of aliens slew, where meet the three great roads.      
Nor did three days succeed the infant’s birth,           744   
Before, by other hands, he cast him forth,      
Maiming his ankles, on a lonely hill.      
Here, then, Apollo failed to make the boy      
His father’s murderer; nor did Laius die           748   
By his son’s hand. So fared the oracles;      
Therefore regard them not. Whate’er the God      
Desires to search he will himself declare.      
    
ŒDIP.  [trembling] O what a fearful boding! thoughts disturbed           752   
Thrill through my soul, my queen, at this thy tale.      
    
JOC.  What means this shuddering, this averted glance?      
    
ŒDIP.  I thought I heard thee say that Laius died,      
Slain in a skirmish where the three roads meet?           756   
    
JOC.  So was it said, and still the rumours hold.      
    
ŒDIP.  Where was the spot in which this matter passed?      
    
JOC.  They call the country Phocis, and the roads      
From Delphi and from Daulia there converge.           760   
    
ŒDIP.  And time? what interval has passed since then?      
    
JOC.  But just before thou camest to possess      
And rule this land the tidings were proclaimed.      
    
ŒDIP.  Great Zeus! what fate hast thou decreed for me?           764   
    
JOC.  What thought is this, my Œdipus, of thine?      
    
ŒDIP.  Ask me not yet, but tell of Laius’ frame,      
His build, his features, and his years of life.      
    
JOC.  Tall was he, and the white hairs snowed his head,           768   
And in his face not much unlike to thee.

ŒDIP.  Woe, woe is me! so seems it I have plunged      
All blindly into curses terrible.      
    
JOC.  What sayest thou? I shudder as I see thee.           772   
    
ŒDIP.  Desponding fear comes o’er me, lest the seer      
Has seen indeed. But one thing more I’ll ask.      
    
JOC.  I fear to speak, yet what thou ask’st I’ll tell.      
    
ŒDIP.  Went he in humble guise, or with a troop           776   
Of spearmen, as becomes a man that rules?      
    
JOC.  Five were they altogether, and of them      
One was a herald, and one chariot had he.      
    
ŒDIP.  Woe! woe! ’tis all too clear. And who was he           780   
That told these tidings to thee, O my queen?      
    
JOC.  A servant who alone escaped with life.      
    
ŒDIP.  And does he chance to dwell among us now?      
    
JOC.  Not so; for from the time when he returned,           784   
And found thee bearing sway, and Laius dead,      
He, at my hand, a suppliant, implored      
This boon, to send him to the distant fields      
To feed his flocks, where never glance of his           788   
Might Thebes behold. And so I sent him forth;      
For though a slave he might have claimed yet more.      
    
ŒDIP.  And could we fetch him quickly back again?      
    
JOC.  That may well be. But why dost thou wish this?           792   
    
ŒDIP.  I fear, O queen, that words best left unsaid      
Have passed these lips, and therefore wish to see him.      
    
JOC.  Well, he shall come. But some small claim have I,      
O king, to learn what touches thee with woe.           796   
    
ŒDIP.  Thou shalt not fail to learn it, now that I      
Have such forebodings reached. To whom should I      
More than to thee tell all the passing chance?      
I had a father, Polybus of Corinth,           800   
And Merope of Doris was my mother,      
And I was held in honour by the rest      
Who dwelt there, till this accident befel,      
Worthy of wonder, of the heat unworthy           804   
It roused within me. Thus it chanced: A man      
At supper, in his cups, with wine o’ertaken,      
Reviles me as a spurious changeling boy;      
And I, sore vexed, hardly for that day           808   
Restrained myself. And when the morrow came      
I went and charged my father and my mother      
With what I thus had heard. They heaped reproach      
On him who stirred the matter, and I soothed           812   
My soul with what they told me; yet it teased,      
Still vexing more and more; and so I went,      
Unknown to them, to Pytho, and the God      
Sent me forth shamed, unanswered in my quest;           816   
And more he added, dread and dire and dark,      
How that the doom of incest lay on me,      
Most foul, unnatural; and that I should be      
Father of children men would loathe to look on,           820   
And murderer of the father that begot me.      
And, hearing this, I cast my wistful looks      
To where the stars hang over Corinth’s towers,      
And fled where nevermore mine eyes might see           824   
The shame of those dire oracles fulfilled;      
And as I went I reached the spot where he,      
The king, thou tell’st me, met the fatal blow.      
And now, O lady, I will tell thee all.           828   
Wending my steps that way where three roads meet,      
There met me first a herald, and a man      
Like him thou told’st of, riding on his car,      
Drawn by young colts. With rough and hasty words           832   
They drove me from the road,—the driver first,      
And that old man himself; and then in rage      
I struck the driver, who had turned me back.      
And when the old man saw it, watching me           836   
As by the chariot side I stood, he struck      
My forehead with a double-pointed goad.      
But we were more than quits, for in a trice      
With this right hand I struck him with my staff,           840   
And he rolled backward from his chariot’s seat.      
And then I slew them all. And if it chance      
That Laius and this stranger are akin,      
What man more wretched than this man who speaks,           844   
What man more harassed by the vexing Gods?      
He whom none now, or alien, or of Thebes,      
May welcome to their house, or speak to him,      
But thrust him forth an exile. And ’twas I,           848   
None other, who against myself proclaimed      
These curses. And the bed of him that died      
I with my hands, by which he fell, defile.      
Am I not vile by nature, all unclean?           852   
If I must flee, yet still in flight my doom      
Is nevermore to see the friends I love,      
Nor tread my country’s soil; or else to bear      
The guilt of incest, and my father slay,           856   
Yea, Polybus, who reared me from the womb.      
Would not a man say right who said that here      
Some cruel God was pressing hard on me?      
Not that, not that, at least, thou Presence, pure           860   
And awful, of the Gods. May I ne’er look      
On such a day as that, but far away      
Depart unseen from all the haunts of men      
Before such great pollution comes on me.           864   
    
CHORUS  Us, too, O king, these things perplex, yet still,      
Till thou hast asked the man who then was by,’      
Have hope.      
    
ŒDIP.  And this indeed is all my hope,           868   
Waiting until that shepherd-slave appear.      
    
JOC.  And when he comes, what meanest thou to ask?      
    
ŒDIP.  I’ll tell thee. Should he now repeat the tale      
Thou told’st to me, it frees me from this guilt.           872   
    
JOC.  What special word was that thou heard’st from me?      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou said’st he told that robbers slew his lord,      
And should he give their number as the same      
Now as before, it was not I who slew him,           876   
For one man could not be the same as many.      
But if he speak of one man, all alone,      
Then, all too plain, the deed cleaves fast to me.      
    
JOC.  But know, the thing was said, and clearly said,           880   
And now he cannot from his word draw back.      
Not I alone, but the whole city, heard it;      
And should he now retract his former tale,      
Not then, my husband, will he rightly show           884   
The death of Laius, who, as Loxias told,      
By my son’s hand should die; and yet, poor boy,      
He killed him not, but perished long ago.      
So I for one, both now and evermore,           888   
Will count all oracles as things of naught.      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou reasonest well. Yet send a messenger      
To fetch that peasant. Be not slack in this.      
    
JOC.  I will make haste to send. But go thou in;           892   
I would do nothing that displeaseth thee.  [Exeunt.      
    
STROPH. I


CHORUS  O that my fate were fixed      
To live in holy purity of speech,      
Pure in all deeds whose laws stand firm and high,           896   
    In heaven’s clear æther born,      
    Of whom Olympus only is the sire,      
    Whom man’s frail flesh begat not,      
    Nor ever shall forgetfulness o’erwhelm;           900   
    In them our God is great and grows not old.      
    
ANTISTROPH. I


But pride begets the mood of tyrant power;      
Pride filled with many thoughts, yet filled in vain,      
    Untimely, ill-advised,           904   
    Scaling the topmost height,      
    Falls down the steep abyss,      
    Down to the pit, where step that profiteth      
    It seeks in vain to take.           908   
I cannot ask the Gods to stop midway      
The conflict sore that works our country’s good;      
I cannot cease to call on God for aid.      
    
STROPH. II


But if there be who walketh haughtily,           912   
    In action or in speech,      
Whom righteousness herself has ceased to awe,      
Who counts the temples of the Gods profane,      
    An evil fate be his,           916   
Fit meed for all his boastfulness of heart;      
Unless in time to come he gain his gains      
All justly, and draws back from godless deeds,      
Nor lays rash hand upon the holy things,           920   
    By man inviolable.      
If such deeds prosper who will henceforth pray      
To guard his soul from passion’s fiery darts?      
If such as these are held in high repute,           924   
What profit is there of my choral strain?      
 

ANTISTROPH. II


No longer will I go in pilgrim guise,      
To yon all holy place, Earth’s central shrine,      
Nor unto Abae’s temple,           928   
Nor to far-famed Olympia,      
Unless these pointings of a hand divine      
In sight of all men stand out clear and true.      
But, O thou sovereign ruler! if that name,           932   
O Zeus, belongs to thee, who reign’st o’er all,      
Let not this trespass hide itself from thee,      
    Or thine undying sway;      
    For now they set at naught           936   
    The oracles, half dead,      
    That Laius heard of old,      
And king Apollo’s wonted worship flags,      
    And all to wreck is gone           940   
    The homage due to God.      
   
Enter JOCASTA, followed by an Attendant


JOC.  Princes of this our land, across my soul      
There comes the thought to go from shrine to shrine      
Of all the Gods, these garlands in my hand,           944   
And waving incense; for our Œdipus      
   
Vexes his soul too wildly with his woes,      
And speaks not as a man should speak who scans      
The present by the experience of the past,           948   
But hangs on every breath that tells of fear.      
And since I find that my advice avails not,      
To thee, Lyceian King, Apollo, first      
I come,—for thou art nearest,—suppliant           952   
With these devotions, trusting thou wilt work      
Some way of healing for us, free from guilt;      
For now we shudder, all of us, seeing him,      
The good ship’s pilot, panic-struck and lost.           956   
   
Enter MESSENGER


MESS.  May I inquire of you, O strangers, where      
To find the house of Œdipus the king,      
And, above all, where he is, if ye know?      
   
CHORUS  This is the house, and he, good sir, within,           960   
And this his wife, and mother of his children.      
   
MESS.  Good fortune be with her and all her kin,      
Being, as she is, his true and honoured wife.      
   
JOC.  Like fortune be with thee, my friend. Thy speech,           964   
So kind, deserves no less. But tell me why      
Thou comest, what thou hast to ask or tell.      
   
MESS.  Good news to thee, and to thy husband, lady.      
   
JOC.  What is it, then? and who has sent thee here?           968   
   
MESS.  I come from Corinth, and the news I’ll tell      
May give thee joy. Why not? Yet thou mayst grieve.      
   
JOC.  What is the news that has this twofold power?      
   
MESS.  The citizens that on these Isthmus dwell           972   
Will make him sovereign. So the rumour ran.      
   
JOC.  What then? Is aged Polybus no more?      
   
MESS.  E’en so. Death holds him in the stately tomb.      
   
JOC.  What say’st thou? Polybus, thy king, is dead?           976   
   
MESS.  If I speak false, I have no wish to live!      
   
JOC.  Go, maiden, at thy topmost speed, and tell      
Thy master this. Now, oracles of Gods,      
Where are ye now? Long since my Œdipus           980   
Fled, fearing lest his hand should slay the man;      
And now he dies by fate, and not by him.      
   
Enter ŒDIPUS


ŒDIP.  Mine own Jocasta, why, O dearest one,      
Why hast thou sent to fetch me from the house?           984   
   
JOC.  List this man’s tale, and when thou hearest, see      
The woeful plight of those dread oracles.      
   
ŒDIP.  Who, then, is this, and what has he to tell?      
   
JOC.  He comes from Corinth, and he brings thee word           988   
That Polybus, thy father, lives no more.      
   
ŒDIP.  What say’st thou, friend? Tell me thy tale thyself.      
   
MESS.  If I must needs report the story clear,      
Know well that he has gone the way of death.           992   
   
ŒDIP.  Was it by plot, or chance of natural death?      
   
MESS.  An old man’s frame a little stroke lays low!      
   
ŒDIP.  He suffered, then, it seems, from some disease?      
   
MESS.  E’en so, and many a weary month he passed.           996   
   
ŒDIP.  Ha! ha! Why now, my queen, should we regard      
The Pythian hearth oracular, or birds      
In mid-air crying? By their auguries,

I was to slay my father. And he dies,           1000   
And the grave hides him; and I find myself      
Handling no sword; unless for love of me      
He pined away, and so I caused his death.      
So Polybus is gone, and with him lie,           1004   
In Hades whelmed, those worthless oracles.      
    
JOC.  Did I not tell thee this long time ago?      
    
ŒDIP.  Thou didst, but I was led away by fears.      
    
JOC.  Dismiss them, then, for ever from thy thoughts!           1008   
    
ŒDIP.  And yet that “incest”; must I not fear that?      
    
JOC.  Why should we fear, when chance rules everything,      
And foresight of the future there is none;      
’Tis best to live at random, as one can.           1012   
But thou, fear not that marriage with thy mother:      
Such things men oft have dreams of; but who cares      
The least about them lives the happiest.      
    
ŒDIP.  Right well thou speakest all things, save that she           1016   
Still lives that bore me, and I can but fear,      
Seeing that she lives, although thou speakest well.      
    
JOC.  And yet thy father’s grave’s a spot of light.      
    
ŒDIP.  ’Tis so: yet while she liveth there is fear.           1020   
    
MESS.  Who is this woman about whom ye fear?      
    
ŒDIP.  ’Tis Merope, old sir, who lived with Polybus.      
    
MESS.  And what leads you to think of her with fear?      
    
ŒDIP.  A fearful oracle, my friend, from God.           1024   
    
MESS.  Canst tell it; or must others ask in vain?      
    
ŒDIP.  Most readily; for Loxias said of old      
The doom of incest lay on me, and I      
With mine own hands should spill my father’s blood.           1028   
And therefore Corinth long ago I left,      
And journeyed far, right prosperously I own;—      
And yet ’tis sweet to see a parent’s face.      
    
MESS.  And did this fear thy steps to exile lead?           1032   
    
ŒDIP.  I did not wish to take my father’s life.      
    
MESS.  Why, the, O king, did I who came with good      
Not free thee from this fear that haunts thy soul?      
    
ŒDIP.  For this, I own, I owe thee worthy thanks.           1036   
    
MESS.  For this, I own, I chiefly came to thee;      
That I on thy return may prosper well.      
    
ŒDIP.  But I return not while a parent lives.      
    
MESS.  ’Tis clear, my son, thou know’st not what thou dost.           1040   
    
ŒDIP.  What is’t? By all the Gods, old man, speak out.      
    
MESS.  If ’tis for them thou fearest to return…      
    
ŒDIP.  I fear lest Phœbus prove himself too true.      
    
MESS.  Is it lest thou shouldst stain thy soul through them?           1044   
    
ŒDIP.  This selfsame fear, old man, for ever haunts me.      
    
MESS.  And know’st thou not there is no cause for fear?      
    
ŒDIP.  Is there no cause if I was born their son?      
    
MESS.  None is there. Polybus is naught to thee.           1048   
    
ŒDIP.  What say’st thou? Did not Polybus beget me?      
    
MESS.  No more than he thou speak’st to; just as much.      
    
ŒDIP.  How could a father’s claim become as naught?      
    
MESS.  Well, neither he begat thee nor did I.           1052   
    
ŒDIP.  Why, then, did he acknowledge me as his?      
    
MESS.  He at my hands received thee as a gift.      
    
ŒDIP.  And could he love another’s child so much?      
    
MESS.  Yes; for this former childlessness wrought on him.           1056   
    
ŒDIP.  And gav’st thou me as buying or as finding?      
    
MESS.  I found thee in Kithæron’s shrub-grown hollow.      
    
ŒDIP.  And for what cause didst travel thitherwards?      
    
MESS.  I had the charge to tend the mountain flocks.           1060   
    
ŒDIP.  Was thou a shepherd born, or seeking hire?      
    
MESS.  At any rate, my son, I saved thee then.      
    
ŒDIP.  What evil, plight, then, didst thou find me in?      
    
MESS.  The sinews of thy feet would tell that tale.           1064   
    
ŒDIP.  Ah, me! why speak’st thou of that ancient wrong?      
    
MESS.  I freed thee when thy insteps both were pierced.      
    
ŒDIP.  A foul disgrace I had in swaddling clothes.      
    
MESS.  Thus from his chance there came the name thou bearest.           1068   
    
ŒDIP.  [starting] Who gave the name, my father or my mother;      
In heaven’s name tell me?      
    
MESS.  This I do not know;      
Who gave thee to me better knows than I.           1072   
    
ŒDIP.  Didst thou, then, take me from another’s hand,      
Not finding me thyself?      
    
MESS.  Not I, indeed;      
Another shepherd made a gift of thee.           1076   
    
ŒDIP.  Who was he? know’st thou where to find him out?      
    
MESS.  They called him one of those that Laius owned.      
    
ŒDIP.  Mean’s thou the former sovereign of this land?      
    
MESS.  E’en so. He fed the flocks of him thou nam’st.           1080