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Part III.
Part III.
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,
And waving incense; for our Oedipus
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,
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
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.
Enter Messenger
Mess. May I inquire of you, O strangers, where
To find the house of Oedipus the king,
And, above all, where he is, if ye know?
Chorus. This is the house, and he, good sir, within,
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,
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?
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
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?
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 Oedipus
Fled, fearing lest his hand should slay the man;
And now he dies by fate, and not by him.
Enter Oedipus
Oedip. Mine own Jocasta, why, O dearest one,
Why hast thou sent to fetch me from the house?
Joc. List this man`s tale, and when thou hearest, see
The woeful plight of those dread oracles.
Oedip. Who, then, is this, and what has he to tell?
Joc. He comes from Corinth, and he brings thee word
That Polybus, thy father, lives no more.
Oedip. 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.
Oedip. Was it by plot, or chance of natural death?
Mess. An old man`s frame a little stroke lays low!
Oedip. He suffered, then, it seems, from some disease?
Mess. E`en so, and many a weary month he passed.
Oedip. 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,
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,
In Hades whelmed, those worthless oracles.
Joc. Did I not tell thee this long time ago?
Oedip. Thou didst, but I was led away by fears.
Joc. Dismiss them, then, for ever from thy thoughts!
Oedip. 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.
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.
Oedip. Right well thou speakest all things, save that she
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.
Oedip. `Tis so: yet while she liveth there is fear.
Mess. Who is this woman about whom ye fear?
Oedip. `Tis Merope, old sir, who lived with Polybus.
Mess. And what leads you to think of her with fear?
Oedip. A fearful oracle, my friend, from God.
Mess. Canst tell it; or must others ask in vain?
Oedip. 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.
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?
Oedip. 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?
Oedip. For this, I own, I owe thee worthy thanks.
Mess. For this, I own, I chiefly came to thee;
That I on thy return may prosper well.
Oedip. But I return not while a parent lives.
Mess. `Tis clear, my son, thou know`st not what thou dost.
Oedip. What is`t? By all the Gods, old man, speak out.
Mess. If `tis for them thou fearest to return . . .
Oedip. I fear lest Phoebus prove himself too true.
Mess. Is it lest thou shouldst stain thy soul through them?
Oedip. This selfsame fear, old man, for ever haunts me.
Mess. And know`st thou not there is no cause for fear?
Oedip. Is there no cause if I was born their son?
Mess. None is there. Polybus is naught to thee.
Oedip. What say`st thou? Did not Polybus beget me?
Mess. No more than he thou speak`st to; just as much.
Oedip. How could a father`s claim become as naught?
Mess. Well, neither he begat thee nor did I.
Oedip. Why, then, did he acknowledge me as his?
Mess. He at my hands received thee as a gift.
Oedip. And could he love another`s child so much?
Mess. Yes; for this former childlessness wrought on him.
Oedip. And gav`st thou me as buying or as finding?
Mess. I found thee in Kithaeron`s shrub - grown hollow.
Oedip. And for what cause didst travel thitherwards?
Mess. I had the charge to tend the mountain flocks.
Oedip. Was thou a shepherd born, or seeking hire?
Mess. At any rate, my son, I saved thee then.
Oedip. What evil, plight, then, didst thou find me in?
Mess. The sinews of thy feet would tell that tale.
Oedip. Ah, me! why speak`st thou of that ancient wrong?
Mess. I freed thee when thy insteps both were pierced.
Oedip. A foul disgrace I had in swaddling clothes.
Mess. Thus from his chance there came the name thou bearest.
Oedip. [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.
Oedip. Didst thou, then, take me from another`s hand,
Not finding me thyself?
Mess. Not I, indeed;
Another shepherd made a gift of thee.
Oedip. Who was he? know`st thou where to find him out?
Mess. They called him one of those that Laius owned.
Oedip. Mean`s thou the former sovereign of this land?
Mess. E`en so. He fed the flocks of him thou nam`st.
Oedip. And is he living still that I might see him?
Mess. You, his own countrymen, should know that best.
Oedip. Is there of you who stand and listen here
One who has known the shepherd that he tells of,
Or seeing him upon the hills or here?
If so, declare it; `tis full time to speak!
Chorus. I think that this is he whom from the hills
But now thou soughtest. But Jocasta here
Could tell thee this with surer word than I.
Oedip. Knowest thou, my queen, the man whom late we sent
To fetch; and him of whom this stranger speaks?
Joc. [with forced calmness] Whom did he speak of? Care not thou for it,
But wish his words may be but idle tales.
Oedip. I cannot fail, once getting on the scent,
To track at last the secret of my birth.
Joc. Ah, by the Gods, if that thou valuest life
Inquire no further. Let my woe suffice.
Oedip. Take heart; though I should turn out thrice a slave,
Born of a thrice vile mother, thou art still
Free from all stain.
Joc. Yet, I implore thee, pause!
Yield to my counsels, do not do this deed.
Oedip. I may not yield, and fail to search it out.
Joc. And yet good counsels give I, for thy good.
Oedip. This "for my good" has been my life`s long plague.
Joc. Who thou art, hapless, mayst thou never know!
Oedip. Will some one bring that shepherd to me here?
Leave her to glory in her high descent.
Joc. Woe! woe! ill - fated one! my last word this,
This only, and no more for evermore.
[Rushes out.
Chorus. Why has thy queen, O Oedipus, gone forth
In her wild sorrow rushing. Much I fear
Lest from such silence evil deeds burst out.
Oedip. Burst out what will, I seek to know my birth,
Low though it be, and she perhaps is shamed
(For, like a woman, she is proud of heart)
At thoughts of my low birth; but I, who count
Myself the child of Fortune, fear no shame.
My mother she, and she has prospered me.
And so the months that span my life have made me
Both high and low; but whatsoe`er I be,
Such as I am I am, and needs must on
To fathom all the secret of my birth.
Strophe
Chorus. If the seer`s gift be mine,
Or skill in counsel wise,
Thou, O Kithaeron, when the morrow comes,
Our full - moon festival,
Shalt fail not to resound
The voice that greets thee, fellow - citizen,
Parent and nurse of Oedipus;
And we will on thee weave our choral dance,
As bringing to our princes glad good news.
Hail, hail! O Phoebus, smile on this our prayer.
Antistrophe
Who was it, child, that bore thee?
Blest daughter of the ever - living Ones,
Or meeting in the ties of love with Pan,
Who wanders o`er the hills,
Or with thee, Loxias, for to thee are dear
All the high lawns where roam the pasturing flocks;
Or was it he who rules Kyllene`s height;
Or did the Bacchic God,
Upon the mountain`s peak,
Receive thee as the gift of some fair nymph
Of Helicon`s fair band,
With whom he sports and wantons evermore?
Oedip. If I must needs conjecture, who as yet
Ne`er met the man, I think I see the shepherd,
Whom this long while we sought for. With the years
His age fits well. And now I see, besides,
My servants bring him. Thou perchance canst say
From former knowledge yet more certainly.
Chorus. I know him well, O king! For this man stood,
If any, known as Laius` faithful slave.
Enter Shepherd
Oedip. Thee first I ask, Corinthian stranger, say,
Is this the man?
Mess. The very man thou seek`st.
Oedip. Ho, there, old man. Come hither, look on me,
And tell me all. Did Laius own thee once?
Shep. Not as a slave from market, but home - reared.
Oedip. What was thy work, or what thy mode of life?
Shep. Near all my life I followed with the flock.
Oedip. And in what regions didst thou chiefly dwell?
Shep. Now `twas Kithaeron, now on neighbouring fields.
Oedip. Know`st thou this man? Didst ever see him there?
Shep. What did he do? Of what man speakest thou?
Oedip. This man now present. Did ye ever meet?
Shep. My memory fails when taxed thus suddenly.
Mess. No wonder that, my lord. But I`ll remind him
Right well of things forgotten. Well I know
He`ll call to mind when on Kithaeron`s fields,
He with a double flock, and I with one,
I was his neighbour during three half years,
From springtide on to autumn; and in winter
I drove my flocks to mine own fold, and he
To those of Laius. [To Shepherd] Is this false or true?
Shep. Thou tell`st the truth, although long years have passed.
Mess. Come, then, say, on. Rememberest thou a boy
Thou gav`st me once, that I might rear him up
As mine own child?
Shep. Why askest thou of this?
Mess. Here stands he, fellow! that same tiny boy!
Shep. A curse befall thee! Wilt not hold thy tongue?
Oedip. Rebuke him not, old man; thy words need more
The language of reproaches than do his.
Shep. Say, good my lord, what fault have I committed?
Oedip. This, that thou tell`st not of the child he asks for.
Shep. Yes, for he speaks in blindness, wasting breath.
Oedip. Thou wilt not speak for favour, but a blow ...
[Strikes him.
Shep. By all the Gods, hurt not my feeble age.
Oedip. Will no one bind his hands behind his back?
Shep. O man most wretched! what, then, wilt thou learn?
Oedip. Gav`st thou this man the boy of whom he asks?
Shep. I gave him. Would that day had been my last!
Oedip. That doom will soon be thine if thou speak`st wrong.
Shep. Nay, much more shall I perish if I speak.
Oedip. This fellow, as it seems, would tire us out.
Shep. Not so. I said long since I gave it him.
Oedip. Whence came it? Was the child thine own or not?
Shep. Mine own `twas not, but some one gave it me,
Oedip. Which of our people, or beneath what roof?
Shep. Oh, by the Gods, my master, ask no more!
Oedip. Thou diest if I question this again.
Shep. Some one it was in Laius` household born.
Oedip. Was it a slave, or some one born to him?
Shep. Ah, me! I stand upon the very brink
Where most I dread to speak.
Oedip. And I to hear:
And yet I needs must hear it, come what may.
Shep. The boy was said to be his son; but she,
Thy queen within, could tell thee best the truth.
Oedip. What! was it she who gave it?
Shep. Yea, O king!
Oedip. And to what end?
Shep. To make away with it.
Oedip. And dared a mother . . .?
Shep. Evil doom she feared.
Oedip. What doom?
Shep. `Twas said that he his sire should kill.
Oedip. Why, then, didst thou to this old man resign him?
Shep. I pitied him, O master, and I thought
That he would bear him to another land,
Whence he himself had come. But him he saved
For direst evil. For if thou be he
Whom this man speaks of, thou art born to ill.
Oedip. Woe! woe! woe! woe! all cometh clear at last.
O light, may I ne`er look on thee again,
Who now am seen owing my birth to those
To whom I ought not, and with whom I ought not
In wedlock living, whom I ought not slaying.
[Exit.
Strophe I
Chorus. Ah, race of mortal men,
How as a thing of naught
I count ye, though ye live;
For who is there of men
That more of blessing knows
Than just a little while
In a vain show to stand,
And, having stood, to fall?
With thee before mine eyes,
Thy destiny, e`en thine,
Ill - fated Oedipus,
I can count no man blest.
Antistrophe I
For thou, with wondrous skill,
Taking thine aim, didst hit
Success, in all things prosperous;
And didst, O Zeus! destroy
The Virgin with her talons bent,
And sayings wild and dark;
And against many deaths
A tower and strong defence
Didst for my country rise;
And therefore dost thou bear the name of king,
With highest glory crowned,
Ruling in mighty Thebes.
Strophe II
And now, who lives than thou more miserable?
Who equals thee in wild woes manifold,
In shifting turns of life?
Ah, noble one, our Oedipus!
For whom the selfsame port
Sufficed for sire and son,
In wedlock`s haven met:
Ah how, ah how, thou wretched one, so long
Could that incestuous bed
Receive thee, and be dumb?
Antistrophe II
Time, who sees all things, he hath found thee out,
Against thy will, and long ago condemned
The wedlock none may wed,
Begetter and begotten
In strange confusion joined.
Ah, child of Laius! ah!
Would that I ne`er had looked upon thy face!
For I mourn sore exceedingly,
From lips with wailing full.
In simplest truth, by thee I rose from death,
By thee I close mine eyes in deadly sleep.
Enter Second Messenger
Sec. Mess. Ye chieftains, honoured most in this our land,
For all the deeds ye hear of, all ye see,
How great a wailing will ye raise, if still
Ye truly love the house of Labdacus;
For sure I think that neither Ister`s stream
Nor Phasis` floods could purify this house,
Such horrors does it hold. But all too soon,
Will we or will we not, they`ll come to light.
Self - chosen sorrows ever pain men most.
Chorus. The ills we knew before lacked nothing meet
For plaint and moaning. Now, what add`st thou more?
Sec. Mess. Quickest for me to speak, and thee to learn;
Our godlike queen Jocasta - she is dead.
Chorus. Ah, crushed with many sorrows! How and why?
Sec. Mess. Herself she slew. The worst of all that passed
I must pass o`er, for none were there to see.
Yet, far as memory suffers me to speak,
That sorrow - stricken woman`s end I`ll tell;
How, yielding to her passion, on she passed
Within the porch, made straightway for the couch,
Her bridal bed, with both hands tore her hair,
And as she entered, dashing through the doors,
Calls on her Laius, dead long years ago,
Remembering all that birth of long ago,
Which brought him death, and left to her who bore,
With his own son a hateful motherhood.
And o`er her bed she wailed, where she had borne
Spouse to her spouse, and children to her child;
And how she perished after this I know not;
For Oedipus struck in with woeful cry,
And we no longer looked upon her fate,
But gazed on him as to and fro he rushed,
For so he comes, and asks us for a sword,
Wherewith to smite the wife that wife was none,
The bosom stained by those accursed births,
Himself, his children - so, as thus he raves,
Some spirit shows her to him (none of us
Who stood hard by had done so): with a shout
Most terrible, as some one led him on,
Through the two gates he leapt, and from the hasp
He slid the hollow bolt, and falls within;
And there we saw his wife had hung herself,
By twisted cords suspended. When her form
He saw, poor wretch! with one wild, fearful cry,
The twisted rope he loosens, and she fell,
Ill - starred one, on the ground. Then came a sight
Most fearful. Tearing from her robe the clasps,
All chased with gold, with which she decked herself,
He with them struck the pupils of his eyes,
Such words as these exclaiming: "They should see
No more the ills he suffered or had done;
But in the dark should look, in time to come,
On those they ought not, not know whom they would."
With such like wails, not once or twice alone,
Raising the lids, he tore his eyes, and they,
All bleeding, stained his cheek, nor ceased to pour
Thick clots of gore, but still the purple shower
Fell fast and full, a very rain of blood.
Such were the ills that fell on both of them,
Not on one only, wife and husband both.
His former fortune, which he held of old,
Was rightly honoured; but for this day`s doom
Wailing and woe, and death and shame, all forms
That man can name of evil, none have failed.
Chorus. And hath the wretched man a pause of ill?
Sec. Mess. He calls to us to ope the gates, and show
To all in Thebes his father`s murderer,
His mother`s . . . Foul and fearful were the words
He spoke. I dare not speak them. Then he said
That he would cast himself adrift, nor stay
At home accursed, as himself had cursed.
Some stay he surely needs, or guiding hand,
For greater is the ill than he can bear,
And this he soon will show thee, for the bolts
Of the two gates are opening, and thou`lt see
A sight to touch e`en hatred`s self with pity.
The doors of the Palace are thrown open, and Oedipus is seen within
Chorus. Oh, fearful, piteous sight!
Most fearful of all woes
I hitherto have known! What madness strange
Has come on thee, thou wretched one?
What power with one fell swoop,
Ills heaping upon ills,
Each greater than the last,
Has marked thee for its prey?
Woe! woe! thou doomed one, wishing much to ask,
And much to learn, and much to gaze into,
I cannot look on thee,
So horrible the sight!
Oedip. Ah, woe! ah, woe! ah, woe!
Woe for my misery!
Where am I wand`ring in my utter woe?
Where floats my voice in air?
Dread power, where leadest thou?
Chorus. To doom of dread nor sight nor speech may bear.
Oedip. O cloud of darkest guilt
That onwards sweeps with dread ineffable,
Resistless, borne along by evil blast,
Woe, woe, and woe again!
How through my soul there darts the sting of pain,
The memory of my crimes.
Chorus. And who can wonder that in such dire woes
Thou mournest doubly, bearing twofold ills?
Oedip. Ah, friend,
Thou only keepest by me, faithful found,
Nor dost the blind one slight.
Woe, woe,
For thou escap`st me not, I know thee well;
Though all is dark, I still can hear thy voice.
Chorus. O man of fearful deeds, how couldst thou bear
Thine eyes to outrage? What power stirred thee to it?
Oedip. Apollo! oh, my friends, the God, Apollo!
Who worketh all my woes - yes, all my woes.
No human hand but mine has done this deed.
What need for me to see,
When nothing`s left that`s sweet to look upon?
Chorus. Too truly dost thou speak the thing that is.
Oedip. Yea, what remains to see,
Or what to love, or hear,
With any touch of joy?
Lead me away, my friends, with utmost speed,
Lead me away, the foul polluted one,
Of all men most accursed,
Most hateful to the Gods.
Chorus. Ah, wretched one, alike in soul and doom,
Would that my eyes had never known thy face!
Oedip. Ill fate be his who loosed the fetters sharp,
That ate into my flesh,
And freed me from the doom of death,
And saved me - thankless boon!
Ah! had I died but then,
Nor to my friends nor me had been such woe.
Chorus. That I, too, vainly wish!
Oedip. Yes; then I had not been
My father`s murderer:
Nor had men pointed to me as the man
Wedded with her who bore him.
But now all god - deserted, born in sins,
In incest joined with her who gave me birth;
Yea, if there be an evil worse than all,
It falls on Oedipus!
Chorus. I may not call thy acts or counsels good,
For better wert thou dead than living blind.
Oedip. Persuade me not, nor counsel give to show
That what I did was not the best to do.
I know not how, on entering Hades dark,
To look for my own father or my mother,
Crimes worse than deadly done against them both.
And though my children`s face was sweet to see
With their growth growing, yet these eyes no more
That sight shall see, nor citadel, nor tower,
Nor sacred shrines of Gods whence I, who stood
Most honoured one in Thebes, myself have banished,
Commanding all to thrust the godless forth,
Him whom the Gods do show accursed, the stock
Of Laius old. And could I dare to look,
Such dire pollution fixing on myself,
And meet them face to face? Not so, not so.
Yea, if I could but stop the stream of sound,
And dam mine ears against it, I would do it,
Closing each wretched sense that I might live
Both blind, and hearing nothing, Sweet `twould be
To keep the soul beyond the reach of ills.
Why, O Kithaeron, didst thou shelter me,
Nor kill me out of hand? I had not shown,
In that case, all men whence I drew my birth.
O Polybus, and Corinth, and the home
I thought was mine, how strange a growth ye reared,
All fair outside, all rotten at the core;
For vile I stand, descended from the vile.
Ye threefold roads and thickets half concealed,
The hedge, the narrow pass where three ways meet,
Which at my hands did drink my father`s blood,
Remember ye what deeds I did in you;
What, hither come, I did? - the marriage rites
That gave me birth, and then, commingling all,
In horrible confusion, showed in one
A father, brother, son, all kindreds mixed,
Mother, and wife, and daughter, hateful names,
All foulest deeds that men have ever done.
But, since, where deeds are evil, speech is wrong,
With utmost speed, by all the Gods, or hide,
Or take my life, or cast me in the sea,
Where nevermore your eyes may look on me.
Come, scorn ye not to touch my misery,
But hearken; fear ye not; no soul but I
Can bear the burden of my countless ills.
Chorus. The man for what thou need`st is come in time,
Creon, to counsel and to act, for now
He in thy place is left our only guide.
Oedip. Ah, me! what language shall I hold to him,
What trust at his hands claim? In all the past
I showed myself to him most vile and base.
Enter Creon
Creon. I have not come, O Oedipus, to scorn,
Nor to reproach thee for thy former crimes;
But ye, if ye have lost your sense of shame
For mortal men, yet reverence the light
Of him, our King, the Sun - God, source of life,
Nor sight so foul expose unveiled to view,
Which neither earth, nor shower from heaven nor light,
Can see and welcome. But with utmost speed
Convey him in; for nearest kin alone
Can meetly see and hear their kindred`s ills.
Oedip. Oh, by the Gods! since thou, beyond my hopes,
Dost come all noble unto me all base,
In one thing hearken. For thy good I ask.
Creon. And what request seek`st thou so wistfully?
Oedip. Cast me with all thy speed from out this land,
Where nevermore a man may look on me!
Creon. Be sure I would have done so, but I wished
To learn what now the God will bid us do.
Oedip. The oracle was surely clear enough
That I, the parricide, the pest, should die.
Creon. So ran the words. But in our present need
`Tis better to learn surely what to do.
Oedip. And will ye ask for one so vile as I?
Creon. Yea, now thou, too, wouldst trust the voice of God.
Oedip. And this I charge thee, yea, and supplicate,
For her within, provide what tomb thou wilt,
For for thine own most meetly thou wilt care;
But never let this city of my fathers
Be sentenced to receive me as its guest;
But suffer me on yon lone hills to dwell,
Where stands Kithaeron, chosen as my tomb
While still I lived, by mother and by sire,
That I may die by those who sought to kill.
And yet this much I know, that no disease,
Nor aught else could have killed me; ne`er from death
Had I been saved but for this destined doom.
But for our fate, whatever comes may come:
And for my boys, O Creon, lay no charge
Of them upon me. They are grown, nor need,
Where`er they be, feel lack of means to live.
But for my two poor girls, all desolate,
To whom their table never brought a meal
Without my presence, but whate`er I touched
They still partook of with me; these I care for.
Yea, let me touch them with my hands, and weep
To them my sorrows. Grant it, O my prince, O born of noble nature!
Could I but touch them with my hands, I feel
Still I should have them mine, as when I saw.
Enter Antigone and Ismene
What say I? What is this?
Do I not hear, ye Gods, their dear, loved tones,
Broken with sobs, and Creon, pitying me,
Hath sent the dearest of my children to me?
Is it not so?
Creon. It is so. I am he who gives thee this,
Knowing the joy thou hadst in them of old.
Oedip. Good luck have thou! And may the powers on high
Guard thy path better than they guarded mine!
Where are ye, O my children? Come, oh, come
To these your brother`s hands, which but now tore
Your father`s eyes, that once were bright to see,
Who, O my children, blind and knowing naught,
Became your father - how, I may not tell.
I weep for you, though sight is mine no more,
Picturing in mind the sad and dreary life
Which waits you in the world in years to come;
For to what friendly gatherings will ye go,
Or festive joys, from whence, for stately show
Once yours, ye shall not home return in tears?
And when ye come to marriageable age,
Who is there, O my children, rash enough
To make his own the shame that then will fall
On those who bore me, and on you as well?
What evil fails us here? Your father killed
His father, and was wed in incest foul
With her who bore him, and ye owe your birth
To her who gave him his. Such shame as this
Will men lay on you, and who then will dare
To make you his in marriage? None, not one,
My children! but ye needs must waste away,
Unwedded, childless, Thou, Menoekeus` son,
Since thou alone art left a father to them
(For we, their parents, perish utterly),
Suffer them not to wander husbandless,
Nor let thy kindred beg their daily bread;
But look on them with pity, seeing them
At their age, but for thee, deprived of all.
O noble soul, I pray thee, touch my hand
In token of consent. And ye, my girls,
Had ye the minds to hearken I would fain
Give ye much counsel. As it is, pray for me
To live where`er is meet; and for yourselves
A brighter life than his ye call your sire.
Creon. Enough of tears and words. Go thou within.
Oedip. I needs must yield, however, hard it be.
Creon. In their right season all things prospect best.
Oedip. Know`st thou my wish?
Creon. Speak and I then shall hear.
Oedip. That thou shouldst send me far away from home.
Creon. Thou askest what the Gods alone can give.
Oedip. And yet I go most hated of the Gods.
Creon. And therefore it may chance thou gain`st thy wish.
Oedip. And dost thou promise, then, to grant it me?
Creon. I am not wont to utter idle words.
Oedip. Lead me, then, hence.
Creon. Go thou, but leave the girls.
Oedip. Ah, take them not from me!
Creon. Thou must not think
To have thy way in all things all thy life.
Thou hadst it once, yet went it ill with thee.
Chorus. Ye men of Thebes, behold this Oedipus,
Who knew the famous riddle and was noblest,
Who envied no one`s fortune and success.
And, lo,! in what a sea of direst woe
He now is plunged. From hence the lesson draw,
To reckon no man happy till ye see
The closing day; until he pass the bourn
Which severs life from death, unscathed by woe.
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