The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 06

by John Dryden

ŒDIPUS.

ACT I.
SCENE I.—The Curtain rises to a plaintive Tune, representing the present condition of Thebes; dead Bodies appear at a distance in the Streets; some faintly go over the Stage, others drop.

Enter Alcander, Diocles, and Pyracmon.

Alc. Methinks we stand on ruins; nature shakes
About us; and the universal frame
So loose, that it but wants another push,
To leap from off its hinges.

Dioc. No sun to cheer us; but a bloody globe,
That rolls above, a bald and beamless fire,
His face o'er-grown with scurf: The sun's sick, too;
Shortly he'll be an earth.

Pyr. Therefore the seasons
Lie all confused; and, by the heavens neglected,
Forget themselves: Blind winter meets the summer
In his mid-way, and, seeing not his livery,
Has driven him headlong back; and the raw damps,
With flaggy wings, fly heavily about,
132 Scattering their pestilential colds and rheums
Through all the lazy air.

Alc. Hence murrains followed
On bleating flocks, and on the lowing herds:
At last, the malady
Grew more domestic, and the faithful dog
Died at his master's feet[1].

Dioc. And next, his master:
For all those plagues, which earth and air had brooded,
First on inferior creatures tried their force,
And last they seized on man.

Pyr. And then a thousand deaths at once advanced,
And every dart took place; all was so sudden,
That scarce a first man fell; one but began
To wonder, and straight fell a wonder too;
A third, who stooped to raise his dying friend,
Dropt in the pious act.—Heard you that groan?[Groan within.

Dioc. A troop of ghosts took flight together there.
Now death's grown riotous, and will play no more
For single stakes, but families and tribes.
How are we sure we breathe not now our last,
And that, next minute,
Our bodies, cast into some common pit,
Shall not be built upon, and overlaid
By half a people?

Alc. There's a chain of causes
Linked to effects; invincible necessity,
That whate'er is, could not but so have been;
That's my security.

To them, enter Creon.

Cre. So had it need, when all our streets lie covered
133 With dead and dying men;
And earth exposes bodies on the pavements,
More than she hides in graves.
Betwixt the bride and bridegroom have I seen
The nuptial torch do common offices
Of marriage and of death.

Dioc. Now Œdipus
(If he return from war, our other plague)
Will scarce find half he left, to grace his triumphs.

Pyr. A feeble pæan will be sung before him.

Alc. He would do well to bring the wives and children
Of conquered Argians, to renew his Thebes.

Cre. May funerals meet him at the city gates,
With their detested omen!

Dioc. Of his children.

Cre. Nay, though she be my sister, of his wife.

Alc. O that our Thebes might once again behold
A monarch, Theban born!

Dioc. We might have had one.

Pyr. Yes, had the people pleased.

Cre. Come, you are my friends:
The queen my sister, after Laius' death,
Feared to lie single; and supplied his place
With a young successor.

Dioc. He much resembles
Her former husband too.

Alc. I always thought so.

Pyr. When twenty winters more have grizzled his black locks,
He will be very Laius.

Cre. So he will.
Meantime, she stands provided of a Laius,
More young, and vigorous too, by twenty springs.
These women are such cunning purveyors!
Mark, where their appetites have once been pleased,
The same resemblance, in a younger lover,
134 Lies brooding in their fancies the same pleasures,
And urges their remembrance to desire.

Dioc. Had merit, not her dotage, been considered;
Then Creon had been king; but Œdipus,
A stranger!

Cre. That word, stranger, I confess,
Sounds harshly in my ears.

Dioc. We are your creatures.
The people, prone, as in all general ills,
To sudden change; the king, in wars abroad;
The queen, a woman weak and unregarded;
Eurydice, the daughter of dead Laius,
A princess young and beauteous, and unmarried,—
Methinks, from these disjointed propositions,
Something might be produced.

Cre. The gods have done
Their part, by sending this commodious plague.
But oh, the princess! her hard heart is shut
By adamantine locks against my love.

Alc. Your claim to her is strong; you are betrothed.

Pyr. True, in her nonage.

Dioc. I heard the prince of Argos, young Adrastus,
When he was hostage here—

Cre. Oh name him not! the bane of all my hopes.
That hot-brained, head-long warrior, has the charms
Of youth, and somewhat of a lucky rashness,
To please a woman yet more fool than he.
That thoughtless sex is caught by outward form.
And empty noise, and loves itself in man.

Alc. But since the war broke out about our frontiers,
He's now a foe to Thebes.

Cre. But is not so to her. See, she appears;
Once more I'll prove my fortune. You insinuate
Kind thoughts of me into the multitude;
Lay load upon the court; gull them with freedom;
And you shall see them toss their tails, and gad,
As if the breeze had stung them.

135 Dioc. We'll about it. [Exeunt Alc. Dioc. and Pyr.

Enter Eurydice.

Cre. Hail, royal maid! thou bright Eurydice,
A lavish planet reigned when thou wert born,
And made thee of such kindred mould to heaven,
Thou seem'st more heaven's than ours.

Eur. Cast round your eyes,
Where late the streets were so thick sown with men,
Like Cadmus' brood, they jostled for the passage;
Now look for those erected heads, and see them,
Like pebbles, paving all our public ways;
When you have thought on this, then answer me,—
If these be hours of courtship?

Cre. Yes, they are;
For when the gods destroy so fast, 'tis time
We should renew the race.

Eur. What, in the midst of horror?

Cre. Why not then?
There's the more need of comfort.

Eur. Impious Creon!

Cre. Unjust Eurydice! can you accuse me
Of love, which is heaven's precept, and not fear
That vengeance, which you say pursues our crimes,
Should reach your perjuries?

Eur. Still the old argument.
I bade you cast your eyes on other men,
Now cast them on yourself; think what you are.

Cre. A man.

Eur. A man!

Cre. Why, doubt you I'm a man?

Eur. 'Tis well you tell me so; I should mistake you
For any other part o'the whole creation,
Rather than think you man. Hence from my sight,
Thou poison to my eyes!

136 Cre. 'Twas you first poisoned mine; and yet, methinks,
My face and person should not make you sport.

Eur. You force me, by your importunities,
To shew you what you are.

Cre. A prince, who loves you;
And, since your pride provokes me, worth your love.
Even at its highest value.

Eur. Love from thee!
Why love renounced thee ere thou saw'st the light;
Nature herself start back when thou wert born,
And cried,—the work's not mine.
The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw
Thy mountain back, and thy distorted legs,
Thy face itself;
Half-minted with the royal stamp of man,
And half o'ercome with beast, stood doubting long,
Whose right in thee were more;
And knew not, if to burn thee in the flames
Were not the holier work.

Cre. Am I to blame, if nature threw my body
In so perverse a mould? yet when she cast
Her envious hand upon my supple joints,
Unable to resist, and rumpled them
On heaps in their dark lodging, to revenge
Her bungled work, she stampt my mind more fair;
And as from chaos, huddled and deformed,
The god struck fire, and lighted up the lamps
That beautify the sky, so he informed
This ill-shaped body with a daring soul;
And, making less than man, he made me more.

Eur. No; thou art all one error, soul and body;
The first young trial of some unskilled power,
Rude in the making art, and ape of Jove.
Thy crooked mind within hunched out thy back,
And wandered in thy limbs. To thy own kind
Make love, if thou canst find it in the world;
137 And seek not from our sex to raise an offspring,
Which, mingled with the rest, would tempt the gods,
To cut off human kind.

Cre. No; let them leave
The Argian prince for you. That enemy
Of Thebes has made you false, and break the vows
You made to me.

Eur. They were my mother's vows,
Made when I was at nurse.

Cre. But hear me, maid:
This blot of nature, this deformed, loathed Creon,
Is master of a sword, to reach the blood
Of your young minion, spoil the gods' fine work,
And stab you in his heart.

Eur. This when thou dost,
Then mayst thou still be cursed with loving me;
And, as thou art, be still unpitied, loathed;
And let his ghost—No, let his ghost have rest—
But let the greatest, fiercest, foulest fury,
Let Creon haunt himself.[Exit Eur.

Cre. 'Tis true, I am
What she has told me—an offence to sight:
My body opens inward to my soul,
And lets in day to make my vices seen
By all discerning eyes, but the blind vulgar.
I must make haste, ere Œdipus return,
To snatch the crown and her—for I still love,
But love with malice. As an angry cur
Snarls while he feeds, so will I seize and stanch
The hunger of my love on this proud beauty,
And leave the scraps for slaves.

Enter Tiresias, leaning on a staff, and led by his Daughter Manto.

What makes this blind prophetic fool abroad?
Would his Apollo had him! he's too holy
138 For earth and me; I'll shun his walk, and seek
My popular friends.[Exit Creon.

Tir. A little farther; yet a little farther,
Thou wretched daughter of a dark old man,
Conduct my weary steps: And thou, who seest
For me and for thyself, beware thou tread not,
With impious steps, upon dead corps. Now stay;
Methinks I draw more open, vital air.
Where are we?

Man. Under covert of a wall;
The most frequented once, and noisy part
Of Thebes; now midnight silence reigns even here,
And grass untrodden springs beneath our feet.

Tir. If there be nigh this place a sunny bank,
There let me rest awhile:—A sunny bank!
Alas! how can it be, where no sun shines,
But a dim winking taper in the skies,
That nods, and scarce holds up his drowzy head,
To glimmer through the damps! [A Noise within. Follow, follow, follow! A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!
Hark! a tumultuous noise, and Creon's name
Thrice echoed.

Man. Fly, the tempest drives this way.

Tir. Whither can age and blindness take their flight?
If I could fly, what could I suffer worse,
Secure of greater ills? [Noise again, Creon, Creon, Creon!

Enter Creon, Diocles, Alcander, Pyracmon; followed by the Crowd.

Cre. I thank ye, countrymen; but must refuse
The honours you intend me; they're too great,
And I am too unworthy; think again,
And make a better choice.

1 Cit. Think twice! I ne'er thought twice in all my life;
That's double work.

139 2 Cit. My first word is always my second; and therefore I'll have no second word; and therefore, once again, I say, A Creon!

All. A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!

Cre. Yet hear me, fellow-citizens.

Dioc. Fellow-citizens! there was a word of kindness!

Alc. When did Œdipus salute you by that familiar name?

1 Cit. Never, never; he was too proud.

Cre. Indeed he could not, for he was a stranger;
But under him our Thebes is half destroyed.
Forbid it, heaven, the residue should perish
Under a Theban born!
'Tis true, the gods might send this plague among you,
Because a stranger ruled; but what of that?
Can I redress it now?

3 Cit. Yes, you or none.
'Tis certain that the gods are angry with us,
Because he reigns.

Cre. Œdipus may return; you may be ruined.

1 Cit. Nay, if that be the matter, we are ruined already.

2 Cit. Half of us, that are here present, were living men but yesterday; and we, that are absent, do but drop and drop, and no man knows whether he be dead or living. And therefore, while we are sound and well, let us satisfy our consciences, and make a new king.

3 Cit. Ha, if we were but worthy to see another coronation! and then, if we must die, we'll go merrily together.

All. To the question, to the question.

Dioc. Are you content, Creon should be your king?

All A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!

Tir. Hear me, ye Thebans, and thou Creon, hear me.

140 1 Cit. Who's that would be heard? we'll hear no man; we can scarce hear one another.

Tir. I charge you, by the gods, to hear me.

2 Cit. Oh, it is Apollo's priest, we must hear him; it is the old blind prophet, that sees all things.

3 Cit. He comes from the gods too, and they are our betters; and, in good manners, we must hear him:—Speak, prophet.

2 Cit. For coming from the gods, that's no great matter, they can all say that: but he is a great scholar; he can make almanacks, an' he were put to it; and therefore I say, hear him.

Tir. When angry heaven scatters its plagues among you,
Is it for nought, ye Thebans? are the gods
Unjust in punishing? are there no crimes,
Which pull this vengeance down?

1 Cit. Yes, yes; no doubt there are some sins stirring, that are the cause of all.

3 Cit. Yes, there are sins, or we should have no taxes.

2 Cit. For my part, I can speak it with a safe conscience, I never sinned in all my life.

1 Cit. Nor I.

3 Cit. Nor I.

2 Cit. Then we are all justified; the sin lies not at our doors.

Tir. All justified alike, and yet all guilty!
Were every man's false dealing brought to light,
His envy, malice, lying, perjuries,
His weights and measures, the other man's extortions,
With what face could you tell offended heaven,
You had not sinned?

2 Cit. Nay, if these be sins, the case is altered; for my part, I never thought any thing but murder had been a sin.

141 Tir. And yet, as if all these were less than nothing,
You add rebellion to them, impious Thebans!
Have you not sworn before the gods to serve
And to obey this Œdipus, your king
By public voice elected? answer me,
If this be true!

2 Cit. This is true; but its a hard world, neighbours,
If a man's oath must be his master.

Cre. Speak, Diocles; all goes wrong.

Dioc. How are you traitors, countrymen of Thebes?
This holy sire, who presses you with oaths,
Forgets your first; were you not sworn before
To Laius and his blood?

All. We were; we were.

Dioc. While Laius has a lawful successor,
Your first oath still must bind: Eurydice
Is heir to Laius; let her marry Creon.
Offended heaven will never be appeased,
While Œdipus pollutes the throne of Laius,
A stranger to his blood.

All. We'll no Œdipus, no Œdipus.

1 Cit. He puts the prophet in a mouse-hole.

2 Cit. I knew it would be so; the last man ever speaks the best reason.

Tir. Can benefits thus die, ungrateful Thebans!
Remember yet, when, after Laius' death,
The monster Sphinx laid your rich country waste,
Your vineyards spoiled, your labouring oxen slew,
Yourselves for fear mewed up within your walls;
She, taller than your gates, o'er-looked your town;
But when she raised her bulk to sail above you,
She drove the air around her like a whirlwind,
And shaded all beneath; till, stooping down,
142 She clap'd her leathern wing against your towers,
And thrust out her long neck, even to your doors[2].

Dioc. Alc. Pyr. We'll hear no more.

Tir. You durst not meet in temples,
To invoke the gods for aid; the proudest he,
Who leads you now, then cowered, like a dared[3] lark:
This Creon shook for fear,
The blood of Laius curdled in his veins,
'Till Œdipus arrived.
Called by his own high courage and the gods,
Himself to you a god, ye offered him
Your queen and crown; (but what was then your crown!)
And heaven authorized it by his success.
Speak then, who is your lawful king?

All. 'Tis Œdipus.

Tir. 'Tis Œdipus indeed: Your king more lawful
Than yet you dream; for something still there lies
In heaven's dark volume, which I read through mists:
'Tis great, prodigious; 'tis a dreadful birth,
Of wondrous fate; and now, just now disclosing.
I see, I see! how terrible it dawns,
And my soul sickens with it!

1 Cit. How the god shakes him!

Tir. He comes, he comes! Victory! conquest! triumph!
143 But oh! guiltless and guilty: murder! parricide!
Incest! discovery! punishment—'tis ended,
And all your sufferings o'er.

A Trumpet within: enter Hæmon.

Hæm. Rouse up, you Thebans; tune your Io Pæans!
Your king returns; the Argians are o'ercome;
Their warlike prince in single combat taken,
And led in bands by god-like Œdipus!

All. Œdipus, Œdipus, Œdipus!

Creon. Furies confound his fortune!—[Aside.
Haste, all haste,[To them.
And meet with blessings our victorious king;
Decree processions; bid new holidays;
Crown all the statues of our gods with garlands;
And raise a brazen column, thus inscribed,—
To Œdipus, now twice a conqueror; deliverer of his Thebes.
Trust me, I weep for joy to see this day.

Tir. Yes, heaven knows why thou weep'st.—Go, countrymen,
And, as you use to supplicate your gods,
So meet your king with bays, and olive branches;
Bow down, and touch his knees, and beg from him
An end of all your woes; for only he
Can give it you. [Exit Tiresias, the People following.

Enter Œdipus in triumph; Adrastus prisoner; Dymas, Train.

Cre. All hail, great Œdipus!
Thou mighty conqueror, hail; welcome to Thebes;
To thy own Thebes; to all that's left of Thebes;
For half thy citizens are swept away,
And wanting for thy triumphs;
144 And we, the happy remnant, only live
To welcome thee, and die.

Œdip. Thus pleasure never comes sincere to man,
But lent by heaven upon hard usury;
And while Jove holds us out the bowl of joy,
Ere it can reach our lips, 'tis dashed with gall
By some left-handed god. O mournful triumph!
O conquest gained abroad, and lost at home!
O Argos, now rejoice, for Thebes lies low!
Thy slaughtered sons now smile, and think they won,
When they can count more Theban ghosts than theirs.

Adr. No; Argos mourns with Thebes; you tempered so
Your courage while you fought, that mercy seemed
The manlier virtue, and much more prevailed;
While Argos is a people, think your Thebes
Can never want for subjects. Every nation
Will crowd to serve where Œdipus commands.

Cre. [To Hæm.] How mean it shews, to fawn upon the victor!

Hæm. Had you beheld him fight, you had said otherwise.
Come, 'tis brave bearing in him, not to envy
Superior virtue.

Œdip. This indeed is conquest,
To gain a friend like you: Why were we foes?

Adr. 'Cause we were kings, and each disdained an equal.
I fought to have it in my power to do
What thou hast done, and so to use my conquest.
To shew thee, honour was my only motive,
Know this, that were my army at thy gates,
And Thebes thus waste, I would not take the gift,
Which, like a toy dropt from the hands of fortune,
Lay for the next chance-comer.

145 Œdip. [Embracing.] No more captive,
But brother of the war. 'Tis much more pleasant,
And safer, trust me, thus to meet thy love,
Than when hard gauntlets clenched our warlike hands,
And kept them from soft use.

Adr. My conqueror!

Œdip. My friend! that other name keeps enmity alive.
But longer to detain thee were a crime;
To love, and to Eurydice, go free.
Such welcome, as a ruined town can give,
Expect from me; the rest let her supply.

Adr. I go without a blush, though conquered twice,
By you, and by my princess.[Exit Adrastus.

Cre. [Aside.] Then I am conquered thrice; by Œdipus,
And her, and even by him, the slave of both.
Gods, I'm beholden to you, for making me your image;
Would I could make you mine![Exit Creon.

Enter the People with branches in their hands, holding them up, and kneeling: Two Priests before them.

Œdip. Alas, my people!
What means this speechless sorrow, downcast eyes,
And lifted hands? If there be one among you,
Whom grief has left a tongue, speak for the rest.

1 Pr. O father of thy country!
To thee these knees are bent, these eyes are lifted,
As to a visible divinity;
A prince, on whom heaven safely might repose
The business of mankind; for Providence
Might on thy careful bosom sleep secure,
And leave her task to thee.
But where's the glory of thy former acts?
Even that's destroyed, when none shall live to speak it.
Millions of subjects shalt thou have; but mute.
146 A people of the dead; a crowded desert;
A midnight silence at the noon of day.

Œdip. O were our gods as ready with their pity,
As I with mine, this presence should be thronged
With all I left alive; and my sad eyes
Not search in vain for friends, whose promised sight
Flattered my toils of war.

1 Pr. Twice our deliverer!

Œdip. Nor are now your vows
Addrest to one who sleeps.
When this unwelcome news first reached my ears,
Dymas was sent to Delphos, to enquire
The cause and cure of this contagious ill,
And is this day returned; but, since his message
Concerns the public, I refused to hear it
But in this general presence: Let him speak.

Dym. A dreadful answer from the hallowed urn,
And sacred tripos, did the priestess give,
In these mysterious words.

The Oracle. Shed in a cursed hour, by cursed hand,
Blood-royal unrevenged has cursed the land.
When Laius' death is expiated well,
Your plague shall cease. The rest let Laius tell.

Œdip. Dreadful indeed! Blood, and a king's blood too!
And such a king's, and by his subjects shed!
(Else why this curse on Thebes?) No wonder then
If monsters, wars, and plagues, revenge such crimes!
If heaven be just, its whole artillery,
All must be emptied on us: Not one bolt
Shall err from Thebes; but more be called for, more;
New-moulded thunder of a larger size,
Driven by whole Jove. What, touch anointed power!
Then, Gods, beware; Jove would himself be next,
Could you but reach him too.

2 Pr. We mourn the sad remembrance.

Œdip. Well you may;
147 Worse than a plague infects you: You're devoted
To mother earth, and to the infernal powers;
Hell has a right in you. I thank you, gods,
That I'm no Theban born: How my blood curdles!
As if this curse touched me, and touched me nearer
Than all this presence!—Yes, 'tis a king's blood,
And I, a king, am tied in deeper bonds
To expiate this blood. But where, from whom,
Or how must I atone it? Tell me, Thebans,
How Laius fell; for a confused report
Passed through my ears, when first I took the crown;
But full of hurry, like a morning dream,
It vanished in the business of the day.[4]

1 Pr. He went in private forth, but thinly followed,
And ne'er returned to Thebes.

Œdip. Nor any from him? came there no attendant?
None to bring news?

2 Pr. But one; and he so wounded,
He scarce drew breath to speak some few faint words.

Œdip. What were they? something may be learnt from thence.

1 Pr. He said, a band of robbers watched their passage,
Who took advantage of a narrow way,
To murder Laius and the rest; himself
Left too for dead.

Œdip. Made you no more enquiry,
But took this bare relation?

2 Pr. 'Twas neglected;
For then the monster Sphinx began to rage,
And present cares soon buried the remote:
So was it hushed, and never since revived.

148 Œdip. Mark, Thebans, mark!
Just then, the Sphinx began to rage among you;
The gods took hold even of the offending minute,
And dated thence your woes: Thence will I trace them.

1 Pr. 'Tis just thou should'st.

Œdip. Hear then this dreadful imprecation; hear it;
'Tis laid on all; not any one exempt:
Bear witness, heaven, avenge it on the perjured!
If any Theban born, if any stranger
Reveal this murder, or produce its author,
Ten attick talents be his just reward:
But if, for fear, for favour, or for hire,
The murderer he conceal, the curse of Thebes
Fall heavy on his head: Unite our plagues,
Ye gods, and place them there: From fire and water,
Converse, and all things common, be he banished.
But for the murderer's self, unfound by man,
Find him, ye powers celestial and infernal!
And the same fate, or worse than Laius met,
Let be his lot: His children be accurst;
His wife and kindred, all of his, be cursed!

Both Pr. Confirm it, heaven!

Enter Jocasta, attended by Women.

Joc. At your devotions? Heaven succeed your wishes;
And bring the effect of these your pious prayers
On you, and me, and all.

Pr. Avert this omen, heaven!

Œdip. O fatal sound! unfortunate Jocasta!
What hast thou said! an ill hour hast thou chosen
For these fore-boding words! why, we were cursing!

Joc. Then may that curse fall only where you laid it.

Œdip. Speak no more!
For all thou say'st is ominous: We were cursing;
149 And that dire imprecation has thou fastened
On Thebes, and thee, and me, and all of us.

Joc. Are then my blessings turned into a curse?
O unkind Œdipus! My former lord
Thought me his blessing; be thou like my Laius.

Œdip. What, yet again? the third time hast thou cursed me:
This imprecation was for Laius' death,
And thou hast wished me like him.

Joc. Horror seizes me!

Œdip. Why dost thou gaze upon me? pr'ythee, love,
Take off thy eye; it burdens me too much.

Joc. The more I look, the more I find of Laius:
His speech, his garb, his action; nay, his frown,—
For I have seen it,—but ne'er bent on me.

Œdip. Are we so like?

Joc. In all things but his love.

Œdip. I love thee more: So well I love, words cannot speak how well.
No pious son e'er loved his mother more,
Than I my dear Jocasta.

Joc. I love you too
The self-same way; and when you chid, methought
A mother's love start[5] up in your defence,
And bade me not be angry. Be not you;
For I love Laius still, as wives should love;
But you more tenderly, as part of me:
And when I have you in my arms, methinks
I lull my child asleep.

Œdip. Then we are blest;
And all these curses sweep along the skies
Like empty clouds, but drop not on our heads.

Joc. I have not joyed an hour since you departed,
For public miseries, and for private fears;
150 But this blest meeting has o'er-paid them all.
Good fortune, that comes seldom, comes more welcome.
All I can wish for now, is your consent
To make my brother happy.

Œdip. How, Jocasta?

Joc. By marriage with his niece, Eurydice.

Œdip. Uncle and niece! they are too near, my love;
'Tis too like incest; 'tis offence to kind:
Had I not promised, were there no Adrastus,
No choice but Creon left her of mankind,
They should not marry: Speak no more of it;
The thought disturbs me.

Joc. Heaven can never bless
A vow so broken, which I made to Creon;
Remember, he is my brother.

Œdip. That is the bar;
And she thy daughter: Nature would abhor
To be forced back again upon herself,
And, like a whirlpool, swallow her own streams.

Joc. Be not displeased: I'll move the suit no more.

Œdip. No, do not; for, I know not why, it shakes me,
When I but think on incest. Move we forward,
To thank the gods for my success, and pray
To wash the guilt of royal blood away.[Exeunt.

ACT II.
SCENE I.—An open Gallery. A Royal Bed-chamber being supposed behind.
The Time, Night. Thunder, &c.

Enter Hæmon, Alcander, and Pyracmon.

Hæm. Sure 'tis the end of all things! fate has torn
The lock of time off, and his head is now
The ghastly ball of round eternity!
151 Call you these peals of thunder, but the yawn
Of bellowing clouds? By Jove, they seem to me
The world's last groans; and those vast sheets of flame
Are its last blaze. The tapers of the gods,
The sun and moon, run down like waxen-globes;
The shooting stars end all in purple jellies[6],
And chaos is at hand.

Pyr. 'Tis midnight, yet there's not a Theban sleeps,
But such as ne'er must wake. All crowd about
The palace, and implore, as from a god,
Help of the king; who, from the battlement,
By the red lightning's glare descried afar,
Atones the angry powers.[Thunder, &c.

Hæm. Ha! Pyracmon, look;
Behold, Alcander, from yon' west of heaven,
The perfect figures of a man and woman;
A sceptre, bright with gems, in each right hand,
Their flowing robes of dazzling purple made:
Distinctly yonder in that point they stand,
Just west; a bloody red stains all the place;
And see, their faces are quite hid in clouds.

Pyr. Clusters of golden stars hang o'er their heads,
And seem so crowded, that they burst upon them:
All dart at once their baleful influence,
In leaking fire.

Alc. Long-bearded comets stick,
Like flaming porcupines, to their left sides,
As they would shoot their quills into their hearts.

Hæm. But see! the king, and queen, and all the court!
152 Did ever day or night shew aught like this? [Thunders again. The Scene draws, and discovers the Prodigies.

Enter Œdipus, Jocasta, Eurydice, Adrastus; and all coming forward with amazement.

Œdip. Answer, you powers divine! spare all this noise,
This rack of heaven, and speak your fatal pleasure.
Why breaks yon dark and dusky orb away?
Why from the bleeding womb of monstrous night,
Burst forth such myriads of abortive stars?
Ha! my Jocasta, look! the silver moon!
A settling crimson stains her beauteous face!
She's all o'er blood! and look, behold again,
What mean the mystic heavens she journies on?
A vast eclipse darkens the labouring planet:—
Sound there, sound all our instruments of war;
Clarions and trumpets, silver, brass, and iron,
And beat a thousand drums, to help her labour.

Adr. 'Tis vain; you see the prodigies continue;
Let's gaze no more, the gods are humorous.

Œdip. Forbear, rash man.—Once more I ask your pleasure!
If that the glow-worm light of human reason
Might dare to offer at immortal knowledge,
And cope with gods, why all this storm of nature?
Why do the rocks split, and why rolls the sea?
Why those portents in heaven, and plagues on earth?
Why yon gigantic forms, ethereal monsters?
Alas! is all this but to fright the dwarfs,
Which your own hands have made? Then be it so.
Or if the fates resolve some expiation
For murdered Laius; hear me, hear me, gods!
Hear me thus prostrate: Spare this groaning land,
Save innocent Thebes, stop the tyrant death;
Do this, and lo, I stand up an oblation,
153 To meet your swiftest and severest anger;
Shoot all at once, and strike me to the centre.

The Cloud draws, that veiled the Heads of the Figures in the Sky, and shews them crowned, with the names of Œdipus and Jocasta, written above in great characters of gold.

Adr. Either I dream, and all my cooler senses
Are vanished with that cloud that fleets away,
Or just above those two majestic heads,
I see, I read distinctly, in large gold,
Œdipus and Jocasta.

Alc. I read the same.

Adr. 'Tis wonderful; yet ought not man to wade
Too far in the vast deep of destiny. [Thunder; and the Prodigies vanish.

Joc. My lord, my Œdipus, why gaze you now,
When the whole heaven is clear, as if the gods
Had some new monsters made? will you not turn,
And bless your people, who devour each word
You breathe?

Œdip. It shall be so.
Yes, I will die, O Thebes, to save thee!
Draw from my heart my blood, with more content
Than e'er I wore thy crown.—Yet, O Jocasta!
By all the endearments of miraculous love,
By all our languishings, our fears in pleasure,
Which oft have made us wonder; here I swear,
On thy fair hand, upon thy breast I swear,
I cannot call to mind, from budding childhood
To blooming youth, a crime by me committed,
For which the awful gods should doom my death.

Joc. 'Tis not you, my lord,
But he who murdered Laius, frees the land.
Were you, which is impossible, the man,
Perhaps my poniard first should drink your blood;
But you are innocent, as your Jocasta,
154 From crimes like those. This made me violent
To save your life, which you unjust would lose:
Nor can you comprehend, with deepest thought,
The horrid agony you cast me in,
When you resolved to die.

Œdip. Is't possible?

Joc. Alas! why start you so? Her stiffening grief,
Who saw her children slaughtered all at once,
Was dull to mine: Methinks, I should have made
My bosom bare against the armed god,
To save my Œdipus!

Œdip. I pray, no more.

Joc. You've silenced me, my lord.

Œdip. Pardon me, dear Jocasta!
Pardon a heart that sinks with sufferings,
And can but vent itself in sobs and murmurs:
Yet, to restore my peace, I'll find him out.
Yes, yes, you gods! you shall have ample vengeance
On Laius' murderer. O, the traitor's name!
I'll know't, I will; art shall be conjured for it,
And nature all unravelled.

Joc. Sacred sir—

Œdip. Rage will have way, and 'tis but just; I'll fetch him,
Though lodged in air upon a dragon's wing,
Though rocks should hide him: Nay, he shall be dragged
From hell, if charms can hurry him along:
His ghost shall be, by sage Tiresias' power,—
Tiresias, that rules all beneath the moon,—
Confined to flesh, to suffer death once more;
And then be plunged in his first fires again.

Enter Creon.

Cre. My lord,
Tiresias attends your pleasure.

Œdip. Haste, and bring him in.—
155 O, my Jocasta, Eurydice, Adrastus,
Creon, and all ye Thebans, now the end
Of plagues, of madness, murders, prodigies,
Draws on: This battle of the heavens and earth
Shall by his wisdom be reduced to peace.

Enter Tiresias, leaning on a staff, led by his Daughter Manto, followed by other Thebans.

O thou, whose most aspiring mind
Knows all the business of the courts above,
Opens the closets of the gods, and dares
To mix with Jove himself and Fate at council;
O prophet, answer me, declare aloud
The traitor, who conspired the death of Laius;
Or be they more, who from malignant stars
Have drawn this plague, that blasts unhappy Thebes?

Tir. We must no more than Fate commissions us
To tell; yet something, and of moment, I'll unfold,
If that the god would wake; I feel him now,
Like a strong spirit charmed into a tree,
That leaps, and moves the wood without a wind:
The roused god, as all this while he lay
Entombed alive, starts and dilates himself;
He struggles, and he tears my aged trunk
With holy fury; my old arteries burst;
My rivell'd skin,
Like parchment, crackles at the hallowed fire;
I shall be young again:—Manto, my daughter,
Thou hast a voice that might have saved the bard
Of Thrace, and forced the raging bacchanals,
With lifted prongs, to listen to thy airs.
O charm this god, this fury in my bosom,
Lull him with tuneful notes, and artful strings,
With powerful strains; Manto, my lovely child,
Sooth the unruly godhead to be mild.

SONG TO APOLLO.

Phœbus, god beloved by men,

At thy dawn, every beast is roused in his den;

At thy setting, all the birds of thy absence complain,

And we die, all die, till the morning comes again.

Phœbus, god beloved by men!

Idol of the eastern kings,

Awful as the god who flings

His thunder round, and the lightning wings;

God of songs, and Orphean strings,

Who to this mortal bosom brings

All harmonious heavenly things!

Thy drowsy prophet to revive,

Ten thousand thousand forms before him drive:

With chariots and horses all o'fire awake him,

Convulsions, and furies, and prophesies shake him:

Let him tell it in groans, though he bend with the load,

Though he burst with the weight of the terrible god.

Tir. The wretch, who shed the blood of old Labdacides,
Lives, and is great;
But cruel greatness ne'er was long.
The first of Laius' blood his life did seize,
And urged his fate,
Which else had lasting been and strong.
The wretch, who Laius killed, must bleed or fly;
Or Thebes, consumed with plagues, in ruins lie.

Œdip. The first of Laius' blood! pronounce the person;
May the god roar from thy prophetic mouth,
That even the dead may start up, to behold;
Name him, I say, that most accursed wretch,
For, by the stars, he dies!
Speak, I command thee;
By Phœbus, speak; for sudden death's his doom:
Here shall he fall, bleed on this very spot;
His name, I charge thee once more, speak.

Tir. 'Tis lost,
Like what we think can never shun remembrance;
157 Yet of a sudden's gone beyond the clouds.

Œdip. Fetch it from thence; I'll have't, wheree'er it be.

Cre. Let me entreat you, sacred sir, be calm,
And Creon shall point out the great offender.
'Tis true, respect of nature might enjoin
Me silence, at another time; but, oh,
Much more the power of my eternal love!
That, that should strike me dumb; yet Thebes, my country—
I'll break through all, to succour thee, poor city!
O, I must speak.

Œdip. Speak then, if aught thou knowest,
As much thou seem'st to know,—delay no longer.

Cre. O beauty! O illustrious, royal maid!
To whom my vows were ever paid, till now;
And with such modest, chaste, and pure affection,
The coldest nymph might read'em without blushing;
Art thou the murdress, then, of wretched Laius?
And I, must I accuse thee! O my tears!
Why will you fall in so abhorred a cause?
But that thy beauteous, barbarous hand destroyed
Thy father, (O monstrous act!) both gods
And men at once take notice.

Œdip. Eurydice!

Eur. Traitor, go on; I scorn thy little malice;
And knowing more my perfect innocence,
Than gods and men, then how much more than thee,
Who art their opposite, and formed a liar,
I thus disdain thee! Thou once didst talk of love;
Because I hate thy love,
Thou dost accuse me.

Adr. Villain, inglorious villain,
And traitor, doubly damned, who durst blaspheme
The spotless virtue of the brightest beauty;
Thou diest: Nor shall the sacred majesty, [Draws and wounds him.
158 That guards this place, preserve thee from my rage.

Œdip. Disarm them both!—Prince, I shall make you know,
That, I can tame you twice. Guards, seize him.

Adr. Sir,
I must acknowledge, in another cause
Repentance might abash me; but I glory
In this, and smile to see the traitor's blood.

Œdip. Creon, you shall be satisfied at full.

Cre. My hurt is nothing, sir; but I appeal
To wise Tiresias, if my accusation
Be not most true. The first of Laius' blood
Gave him his death. Is there a prince before her?
Then she is faultless, and I ask her pardon.
And may this blood ne'er cease to drop, O Thebes,
If pity of thy sufferings did not move me,
To shew the cure which heaven itself prescribed.

Eur. Yes, Thebans, I will die to save your lives.
More willingly than you can wish my fate;
But let this good, this wise, this holy man,
Pronounce my sentence: For to fall by him,
By the vile breath of that prodigious villain,
Would sink my soul, though I should die a martyr.

Adr. Unhand me, slaves.—O mightiest of kings,
See at your feet a prince not used to kneel;
Touch not Eurydice, by all the gods,
As you would save your Thebes, but take my life:
For should she perish, heaven would heap plagues on plagues,
Rain sulphur down, hurl kindled bolts
Upon your guilty heads.

Cre. You turn to gallantry, what is but justice;
Proof will be easy made. Adrastus was
The robber, who bereft the unhappy king
Of life; because he flatly had denied
To make so poor a prince his son-in-law;
Therefore 'twere fit that both should perish.

159 1 Theb. Both, let both die.

All Theb. Both, both; let them die.

Œdip. Hence, you wild herd! For your ringleader here,
He shall be made example. Hæmon, take him.

1 Theb. Mercy, O mercy!

Œdip. Mutiny in my presence!
Hence, let me see that busy face no more.

Tir. Thebans, what madness makes you drunk with rage?
Enough of guilty death's already acted:
Fierce Creon has accused Eurydice,
With prince Adrastus; which the god reproves
By inward checks, and leaves their fates in doubt.

Œdip. Therefore instruct us what remains to do,
Or suffer; for I feel a sleep like death
Upon me, and I sigh to be at rest.

Tir. Since that the powers divine refuse to clear
The mystic deed, I'll to the grove of furies;
There I can force the infernal gods to shew
Their horrid forms; each trembling ghost shall rise,
And leave their grisly king without a waiter.
For prince Adrastus and Eurydice,
My life's engaged, I'll guard them in the fane,
'Till the dark mysteries of hell are done.
Follow me, princes; Thebans, all to rest.
O, Œdipus, to-morrow—but no more.
If that thy wakeful genius will permit,
Indulge thy brain this night with softer slumbers:
To-morrow, O to-morrow!—Sleep, my son;
And in prophetic dreams thy fate be shown. [Exeunt Tir. Adr. Eur. Man. and Theb.

Manent Œdipus, Jocasta, Creon, Pyracmon, Hæmon, and Alcander.

Œdip. To bed, my fair, my dear, my best Jocasta.
After the toils of war, 'tis wondrous strange
160 Our loves should thus be dashed. One moment's thought,
And I'll approach the arms of my beloved.

Joc. Consume whole years in care, so now and then
I may have leave to feed my famished eyes
With one short passing glance, and sigh my vows:
This, and no more, my lord, is all the passion
Of languishing Jocasta.[Exit.

Œdip. Thou softest, sweetest of the world! good night.—
Nay, she is beauteous too; yet, mighty love!
I never offered to obey thy laws,
But an unusual chillness came upon me;
An unknown hand still checked my forward joy,
Dashed me with blushes, though no light was near;
That even the act became a violation.

Pyr. He's strangely thoughtful.

Œdip. Hark! who was that? Ha! Creon, didst thou call me?

Cre. Not I, my gracious lord, nor any here.

Œdip. That's strange! methought I heard a doleful voice
Cry, Œdipus.—The prophet bade me sleep.
He talked of dreams, and visions, and to-morrow!
I'll muse no more; come what will, or can,
My thoughts are clearer than unclouded stars;
And with those thoughts I'll rest. Creon, good-night. [Exit with Hæm.

Cre. Sleep seal your eyes up, sir,—eternal sleep!
But if he sleep and wake again, O all
Tormenting dreams, wild horrors of the night,
And hags of fancy, wing him through the air:
From precipices hurl him headlong down,
Charybdis roar, and death be set before him!

Alc. Your curses have already taken effect,
For he looks very sad.

Cre. May he be rooted, where he stands, for ever;
161 His eye-balls never move, brows be unbent,
His blood, his entrails, liver, heart, and bowels,
Be blacker than the place I wish him, hell.

Pyr. No more; you tear yourself, but vex not him.
Methinks 'twere brave this night to force the temple,
While blind Tiresias conjures up the fiends,
And pass the time with nice Eurydice.

Alc. Try promises and threats, and if all fail,
Since hell's broke loose, why should not you be mad?
Ravish, and leave her dead with her Adrastus.

Cre. Were the globe mine, I'd give a province hourly
For such another thought.—Lust and revenge!
To stab at once the only man I hate,
And to enjoy the woman whom I love!
I ask no more of my auspicious stars,
The rest as fortune please; so but this night
She play me fair, why, let her turn for ever.

Enter Hæmon.

Hæm. My lord, the troubled king is gone to rest;
Yet, ere he slept, commanded me to clear
The antichambers; none must dare be near him.

Cre. Hæmon, you do your duty;[Thunder.
And we obey.—The night grows yet more dreadful!
'Tis just that all retire to their devotions.
The gods are angry; but to-morrow's dawn,
If prophets do not lie, will make all clear.

As they go off, Œdipus enters, walking asleep in his shirt, with a dagger in his right hand, and a taper in his left.

Œdip. O, my Jocasta! 'tis for this, the wet
Starved soldier lies on the cold ground;
For this, he bears the storms
Of winter camps, and freezes in his arms;
To be thus circled, to be thus embraced.
162 That I could hold thee ever!—Ha! where art thou?
What means this melancholy light, that seems
The gloom of glowing embers?
The curtain's drawn; and see she's here again!
Jocasta? Ha! what, fallen asleep so soon?
How fares my love? this taper will inform me.—
Ha! Lightning blast me, thunder
Rivet me ever to Prometheus' rock,
And vultures gnaw out my incestuous heart!—
By all the gods, my mother Merope!
My sword! a dagger! ha, who waits there? Slaves,
My sword!—What, Hæmon, dar'st thou, villain, stop me?
With thy own poniard perish.—Ha! who's this?
Or is't a change of death? By all my honours,
New murder; thou hast slain old Polybus:
Incest and parricide,—thy father's murderer!
Out, thou infernal flame!—Now all is dark,
All blind and dismal, most triumphant mischief!
And now, while thus I stalk about the room,
I challenge Fate to find another wretch
Like Œdipus![Thunder, &c.

Enter Jocasta attended, with Lights, in a Night-gown.

Œdip. Night, horror, death, confusion, hell, and furies!
Where am I?—O, Jocasta, let me hold thee,
Thus to my bosom! ages let me grasp thee!
All that the hardest-tempered weathered flesh,
With fiercest human spirit inspired, can dare,
Or do, I dare; but, oh you powers, this was,
By infinite degrees, too much for man.
Methinks my deafened ears
Are burst; my eyes, as if they had been knocked
By some tempestuous hand, shoot flashing fire;—
That sleep should do this!

Joc. Then my fears were true.
163 Methought I heard your voice,—and yet I doubted,—
Now roaring like the ocean, when the winds
Fight with the waves; now, in a still small tone
Your dying accents fell, as wrecking ships,
After the dreadful yell, sink murmuring down,
And bubble up a noise.

Œdip. Trust me, thou fairest, best of all thy kind,
None e'er in dreams was tortured so before.
Yet what most shocks the niceness of my temper,
Even far beyond the killing of my father,
And my own death, is, that this horrid sleep
Dashed my sick fancy with an act of incest:
I dreamt, Jocasta, that thou wert my mother;
Which, though impossible, so damps my spirits,
That I could do a mischief on myself,
Lest I should sleep, and dream the like again.

Joc. O Œdipus, too well I understand you!
I know the wrath of heaven, the care of Thebes,
The cries of its inhabitants, war's toils,
And thousand other labours of the state,
Are all referred to you, and ought to take you
For ever from Jocasta.

Œdip. Life of my life, and treasure of my soul,
Heaven knows I love thee.

Joc. O, you think me vile,
And of an inclination so ignoble,
That I must hide me from your eyes for ever.
Be witness, gods, and strike Jocasta dead,
If an immodest thought, or low desire,
Inflamed my breast, since first our loves were lighted.

Œdip. O rise, and add not, by thy cruel kindness,
A grief more sensible than all my torments.
Thou thinkest my dreams are forged; but by thyself,
The greatest oath, I swear, they are most true;
But, be they what they will, I here dismiss them.
Begone, chimeras, to your mother clouds!
Is there a fault in us? Have we not searched
164 The womb of heaven, examined all the entrails
Of birds and beasts, and tired the prophet's art?
Yet what avails? He, and the gods together,
Seem, like physicians, at a loss to help us;
Therefore, like wretches that have lingered long,
We'll snatch the strongest cordial of our love;
To bed, my fair.

Ghost. [Within.] Œdipus!

Œdip. Ha! who calls?
Didst thou not hear a voice?

Joc. Alas! I did.

Ghost. Jocasta!

Joc. O my love, my lord, support me!

Œdip. Call louder, till you burst your airy forms!—
Rest on my hand. Thus, armed with innocence,
I'll face these babbling dæmons of the air;
In spite of ghosts, I'll on.
Though round my bed the furies plant their charms,
I'll break them, with Jocasta in my arms;
Clasped in the folds of love, I'll wait my doom;
And act my joys, though thunder shake the room.[Exeunt.

ACT III.
SCENE I.—A dark Grove.

Enter Creon and Diocles.

Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than be unhappy.

Dioc. What mean you by these words?

Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than to be Creon.
A thinking soul is punishment enough;
But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too,
Then every thought draws blood.

Dioc. You are not wretched.

165 Cre. I am: my soul's ill married to my body.
I would be young, be handsome, be beloved:
Could I but breathe myself into Adrastus!—

Dioc. You rave; call home your thoughts.

Cre. I pr'ythee let my soul take air a while;
Were she in Œdipus, I were a king;
Then I had killed a monster, gained a battle,
And had my rival prisoner; brave, brave actions!
Why have not I done these?

Dioc. Your fortune hindered.

Cre. There's it; I have a soul to do them all:
But fortune will have nothing done that's great,
But by young handsome fools; body and brawn
Do all her work: Hercules was a fool,
And straight grew famous; a mad boist'rous fool,
Nay worse, a woman's fool;
Fool is the stuff, of which heaven makes a hero.

Dioc. A serpent ne'er becomes a flying dragon,
Till he has eat a serpent[7].

Cre. Goes it there?
I understand thee; I must kill Adrastus.

Dioc. Or not enjoy your mistress:
Eurydice and he are prisoners here,
But will not long be so: This tell-tale ghost
Perhaps will clear 'em both.

Cre. Well: 'tis resolved.

Dioc. The princess walks this way;
You must not meet her,
Till this be done.

Cre. I must.

Dioc. She hates your sight;
And more, since you accused her.

166 Cre. Urge it not.
I cannot stay to tell thee my design;
For she's too near.

Enter Eurydice.

How, madam, were your thoughts employed?

Eur. On death, and thee.

Cre. Then were they not well sorted: Life and me
Had been the better match.

Eur. No, I was thinking
On two the most detested things in nature:
And they are death and thee.

Cre. The thought of death to one near death is dreadful!
O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more;
Or, if to be, to wander after death;
To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day;
And when the darkness comes, to glide in paths
That lead to graves; and in the silent vault,
Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it,
Striving to enter your forbidden corps,
And often, often, vainly breathe your ghost
Into your lifeless lips;
Then, like a lone benighted traveller,
Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answered
By whistling winds, whose every blast will shake
Your tender form to atoms.

Eur. Must I be this thin being? and thus wander?
No quiet after death!

Cre. None: You must leave
This beauteous body; all this youth and freshness
Must be no more the object of desire,
But a cold lump of clay;
Which then your discontented ghost will leave,
And loath its former lodging.
This is the best of what comes after death.
Even to the best.

167 Eur. What then shall be thy lot?—
Eternal torments, baths of boiling sulphur,
Vicissitudes of fires, and then of frosts;
And an old guardian fiend, ugly as thou art,
To hollow in thy ears at every lash,—
This for Eurydice; these for her Adrastus!

Cre. For her Adrastus!

Eur. Yes; for her Adrastus:
For death shall ne'er divide us: Death? what's death!

Dioc. You seemed to fear it.

Eur. But I more fear Creon:
To take that hunch-backed monster in my arms!
The excrescence of a man!

Dioc. to Cre. See what you've gained.

Eur. Death only can be dreadful to the bad:
To innocence, 'tis like a bug-bear dressed
To frighten children; pull but off his masque,
And he'll appear a friend.

Cre. You talk too slightly
Of death and hell. Let me inform you better.

Eur. You best can tell the news of your own country.

Dioc. Nay, now you are too sharp.

Eur. Can I be so to one, who has accused me
Of murder and of parricide?

Cre. You provoked me:
And yet I only did thus far accuse you,
As next of blood to Laius: Be advised,
And you may live.

Eur. The means?

Cre. 'Tis offered you.
The fool Adrastus has accused himself.

Eur. He has indeed, to take the guilt from me.

Cre. He says he loves you; if he does, 'tis well:
He ne'er could prove it in a better time.

Eur. Then death must be his recompence for love?

Cre. 'Tis a fool's just reward;
168 The wise can make a better use of life.
But 'tis the young man's pleasure; his ambition:
I grudge him not that favour.

Eur. When he's dead,
Where shall I find his equal!

Cre. Every where.
Fine empty things, like him, the court swarms with them.
Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common,
Crows feed on nothing else: plenty of fools;
A glut of them in Thebes.
And fortune still takes care they should be seen:
She places 'em aloft, o'th' topmost spoke
Of all her wheel. Fools are the daily work
Of nature; her vocation; if she form
A man, she loses by't, 'tis too expensive;
'Twould make ten fools: A man's a prodigy.

Eur. That is, a Creon: O thou black detractor,
Who spit'st thy venom against gods and men!
Thou enemy of eyes;
Thou, who lov'st nothing but what nothing loves,
And that's thyself; who hast conspired against
My life and fame, to make me loathed by all,
And only fit for thee.
But for Adrastus' death,—good Gods, his death!—
What curse shall I invent?

Dioc. No more: he's here.

Eur. He shall be ever here.
He who would give his life, give up his fame—

Enter Adrastus.

If all the excellence of woman-kind
Were mine;—No, 'tis too little all for him:
Were I made up of endless, endless joys!

Adr. And so thou art:
The man, who loves like me,
Would think even infamy, the worst of ills,
169 Were cheaply purchased, were thy love the price.
Uncrowned, a captive, nothing left but honour,—
'Tis the last thing a prince should throw away;
But when the storm grows loud, and threatens love,
Throw even that o'er-board; for love's the jewel,
And last it must be kept.

Cre. [To Dioc.] Work him, be sure,
To rage; he is passionate;
Make him the aggressor.

Dioc. O false love, false honour!

Cre. Dissembled both, and false!

Adr. Darest thou say this to me?

Cre. To you! why what are you, that I should fear you?
I am not Laius. Hear me, prince of Argos;
You give what's nothing, when you give your honour:
'Tis gone; 'tis lost in battle. For your love,
Vows made in wine are not so false as that:
You killed her father; you confessed you did:
A mighty argument to prove your passion to the daughter!

Adr. [Aside.] Gods, must I bear this brand, and not retort
The lye to his foul throat!

Dioc. Basely you killed him.

Adr. [Aside.] O, I burn inward: my blood's all on fire!
Alcides, when the poisoned shirt sate closest,
Had but an ague-fit to this my fever.
Yet, for Eurydice, even this I'll suffer,
To free my love.—Well then, I killed him basely.

Cre. Fairly, I'm sure, you could not.

Dioc. Nor alone.

Cre. You had your fellow thieves about you, prince;
They conquered, and you killed.

170 Adr. [Aside.] Down, swelling heart!
'Tis for thy princess all:—O my Eurydice!—[To her.

Eur. [To him.] Reproach not thus the weakness of my sex,
As if I could not bear a shameful death,
Rather than see you burdened with a crime
Of which I know you free.

Cre. You do ill, madam,
To let your head-long love triumph o'er nature:
Dare you defend your father's murderer?

Eur. You know he killed him not.

Cre. Let him say so.

Dioc. See, he stands mute.

Cre. O power of conscience, even in wicked men!
It works, it stings, it will not let him utter
One syllable, one,—no, to clear himself
From the most base, detested, horrid act
That ere could stain a villain,—not a prince.

Adr. Ha! villain!

Dioc. Echo to him, groves: cry villain.

Adr. Let me consider—did I murder Laius,
Thus, like a villain?

Cre. Best revoke your words,
And say you killed him not.

Adr. Not like a villain; pr'ythee, change me that
For any other lye.

Dioc. No, villain, villain.

Cre. You killed him not! proclaim your innocence,
Accuse the princess: So I knew 'twould be.

Adr. I thank thee, thou instructest me:
No matter how I killed him.

Cre. [Aside.] Cooled again!

Eur. Thou, who usurp'st the sacred name of conscience,
Did not thy own declare him innocent?
171 To me declare him so? The king shall know it.

Cre. You will not be believed, for I'll forswear it.

Eur. What's now thy conscience?

Cre. 'Tis my slave, my drudge, my supple glove,
My upper garment, to put on, throw off,
As I think best: 'Tis my obedient conscience.

Adr. Infamous wretch!

Cre. My conscience shall not do me the ill office
To save a rival's life; when thou art dead,
(As dead thou shalt be, or be yet more base
Than thou think'st me,
By forfeiting her life, to save thy own,—)
Know this,—and let it grate thy very soul,—
She shall be mine: (she is, if vows were binding;)
Mark me, the fruit of all thy faith and passion,
Even of thy foolish death, shall all be mine.

Adr. Thine, say'st thou, monster! shall my love be thine?
O, I can bear no more!
Thy cunning engines have with labour raised
My heavy anger, like a mighty weight,
To fall and pash thee dead.
See here thy nuptials; see, thou rash Ixion,[Draws.
Thy promised Juno vanished in a cloud;
And in her room avenging thunder rolls,
To blast thee thus!—Come both!—[Both draw.

Cre. 'Tis what I wished.
Now see whose arm can launch the surer bolt,
And who's the better Jove![Fight.

Eur. Help; murther, help!

Enter Hæmon and guards, run betwixt them, and beat down their swords.

Hæm. Hold, hold your impious hands! I think the furies,
172 To whom this grove is hallowed, have inspired you:
Now, by my soul, the holiest earth of Thebes
You have profaned with war. Nor tree, nor plant
Grows here, but what is fed with magick juice;
All full of human souls, that cleave their barks
To dance at midnight by the moon's pale beams:
At least two hundred years these reverend shades
Have known no blood, but of black sheep and oxen,
Shed by the priest's own hand to Proserpine.

Adr. Forgive a stranger's ignorance: I knew not
The honours of the place.

Hæm. Thou, Creon, didst.
Not Œdipus, were all his foes here lodged,
Durst violate the religion of these groves,
To touch one single hair; but must, unarmed,
Parle as in truce, or surlily avoid
What most he longed to kill[8].

173 Cre. I drew not first,
But in my own defence.

Adr. I was provoked
Beyond man's patience; all reproach could urge
Was used to kindle one, not apt to bear.

Hæm. 'Tis Œdipus, not I, must judge this act.—
Lord Creon, you and Diocles retire:
Tiresias, and the brother-hood of priests,
Approach the place: None at these rites assist,
But you the accused, who by the mouth of Laius
Must be absolved or doomed.

Adr. I bear my fortune.

Eur. And I provoke my trial.

Hæm. 'Tis at hand.
For see, the prophet comes, with vervain crowned;
The priests with yew, a venerable band;
We leave you to the gods. [Exit Hæmon with Creon and Diocles.

Enter Tiresias, led by Manto: The Priests follow; all cloathed in long black habits.

Tir. Approach, ye lovers;
Ill-fated pair! whom, seeing not, I know,
This day your kindly stars in heaven were joined;
174 When lo, an envious planet interposed,
And threatened both with death: I fear, I fear!—

Eur. Is there no God so much a friend to love,
Who can controul the malice of our fate?
Are they all deaf; or have the giants heaven?

Tir. The gods are just;
But how can finite measure infinite?
Reason! alas, it does not know itself!
Yet man, vain man, would with this short-lined plummet,
Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice.
Whatever is, is in its causes just;
Since all things are by fate. But purblind man
Sees but a part o'the chain; the nearest links;
His eyes not carrying to that equal beam,
That poises all above.

Eur. Then we must die!

Tir. The danger's imminent this day.

Adr. Why then there's one day less for human ills;
And who would moan himself, for suffering that,
Which in a day must pass? something, or nothing;—
I shall be what I was again, before
I was Adrastus.—
Penurious heaven, can'st thou not add a night
To our one day? give me a night with her,
And I'll give all the rest.

Tir. She broke her vow,
First made to Creon: But the time calls on;
And Laius' death must now be made more plain.
How loth I am to have recourse to rites
So full of horror, that I once rejoice
I want the use of sight!—

1 Pr. The ceremonies stay.

Tir. Chuse the darkest part o'the grove:
Such as ghosts at noon-day love.
Dig a trench, and dig it nigh
175 Where the bones of Laius lie;
Altars, raised of turf or stone,
Will the infernal powers have none.
Answer me, if this be done?

All Pr. 'Tis done.

Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit?
Draw her backward to the pit:
Draw the barren heifer back;
Barren let her be, and black.
Cut the curled hair, that grows
Full betwixt her horns and brows:
And turn your faces from the sun:
Answer me, if this be done?

All Pr. 'Tis done.

Tir. Pour in blood, and blood like wine,
To mother Earth and Proserpine:
Mingle milk into the stream;
Feast the ghosts that love the steam;
Snatch a brand from funeral pile;
Toss it in to make them boil:
And turn your faces from the sun:
Answer me, if all be done?

All Pr. All is done. [Peal of Thunder; and flashes of Lightning; then groaning below the stage.

Man. O, what laments are those?

Tir. The groans of ghosts, that cleave the heart with pain,
And heave it up: they pant and stick half-way. [The Stage wholly darkened.

Man. And now a sudden darkness covers all,
True genuine night, night added to the groves;
The fogs are blown full in the face of heaven.

Tir. Am I but half obeyed? infernal gods,
Must you have musick too? then tune your voices,
And let them have such sounds as hell ne'er heard,
Since Orpheus bribed the shades.

176 Musick First. Then Song.

1. Hear, ye sullen powers below:
Hear, ye taskers of the dead.
2. You that boiling cauldrons blow,
You that scum the molten lead.
3. You that pinch with red-hot tongs;
1. You that drive the trembling hosts
Of poor, poor ghosts,
With your sharpened prongs;
2. You that thrust them off the brim;
3. You that plunge them when they swim:
1. Till they drown;
Till they go
On a row,
Down, down, down:
Ten thousand, thousand, thousand fathoms low.

Chorus. Till they drown, &c.

1. Musick for awhile
Shall your cares beguile:
Wondering how your pains were eased;
2. And disdaining to be pleas'd;
1. Till Alecto free the dead
From their eternal bands;
Till the snakes drop from her head,
And whip from out her hands.
1. Come away,
Do not stay,
But obey,
While we play,
For hell's broke up, and ghosts have holiday.

Chorus. Come away, &c. [A flash of Lightning: The Stage is made bright, and the Ghosts are seen passing betwixt the Trees.

1. Laius! 2. Laius! 3. Laius!

177 1. Hear! 2. Hear! 3. Hear!

Tir. Hear and appear!
By the Fates that spun thy thread!

Cho. Which are three.

Tir. By the furies fierce and dread!

Cho. Which are three.

Tir. By the judges of the dead!

Cho. Which are three.
Three times three!

Tir. By hell's blue flame:
By the Stygian Lake:
And by Demogorgon's name,
At which ghosts quake,
Hear and appear! [The Ghost of Laius rises armed in his chariot, as he was slain. And behind his Chariot, sit the three who were murdered with him.

Ghost of Laius. Why hast thou drawn me from my pain below,
To suffer worse above? to see the day,
And Thebes, more hated? Hell is heaven to Thebes.
For pity send me back, where I may hide,
In willing night, this ignominious head:
In hell I shun the public scorn; and then
They hunt me for their sport, and hoot me as I fly:
Behold even now they grin at my gored side,
And chatter at my wounds.

Tir. I pity thee:
Tell but why Thebes is for thy death accurst,
And I'll unbind the charm.

Ghost. O spare my shame!

Tir. Are these two innocent?

Ghost. Of my death they are.
But he who holds my crown,—Oh, must I speak!—
Was doomed to do what nature most abhors.
The Gods foresaw it; and forbade his being,
Before he yet was born. I broke their laws,
178 And clothed with flesh his pre-existing soul.
Some kinder power, too weak for destiny,
Took pity, and endued his new-formed mass
With temperance, justice, prudence, fortitude,
And every kingly virtue: But in vain.
For fate, that sent him hood-winked to the world,
Performed its work by his mistaking hands.
Ask'st thou who murdered me? 'twas Œdipus:
Who stains my bed with incest? Œdipus:
For whom then are you curst, but Œdipus!
He comes, the parricide! I cannot bear him:
My wounds ake at him: Oh, his murderous breath
Venoms my airy substance! hence with him,
Banish him; sweep him out; the plague he bears
Will blast your fields, and mark his way with ruin.
From Thebes, my throne, my bed, let him be driven:
Do you forbid him earth, and I'll forbid him heaven. [Ghost descends.

Enter Œdipus, Creon, Hæmon, &c.

Œdip. What's this! methought some pestilential blast
Struck me, just entering; and some unseen hand
Struggled to push me backward! tell me why
My hair stands bristling up, why my flesh trembles?
You stare at me! then hell has been among ye,
And some lag fiend yet lingers in the grove.

Tir. What omen sawest thou, entering?

Œdip. A young stork,
That bore his aged parent on his back;
Till weary with the weight, he shook him off,
And pecked out both his eyes.

Adr. Oh, Œdipus!

Eur. Oh, wretched Œdipus!

Tir. Oh, fatal king!

Œdip. What mean these exclamations on my name?
I thank the gods, no secret thoughts reproach me:
179 No: I dare challenge heaven to turn me outward,
And shake my soul quite empty in your sight.
Then wonder not that I can bear unmoved
These fixed regards, and silent threats of eyes.
A generous fierceness dwells with innocence;
And conscious virtue is allowed some pride.

Tir. Thou knowest not what thou sayest.

Œdip. What mutters he? tell me, Eurydice:
Thou shak'st: Thy soul's a woman;—speak, Adrastus,
And boldly, as thou met'st my arms in fight:—
Dar'st thou not speak? why then 'tis bad indeed.—
Tiresias, thee I summon by thy priesthood,
Tell me what news from hell; where Laius points,
And whose the guilty head!

Tir. Let me not answer.

Œdip. Be dumb then, and betray thy native soil
To farther plagues.

Tir. I dare not name him to thee.

Œdip. Dar'st thou converse with hell, and canst thou fear
An human name?

Tir. Urge me no more to tell a thing, which, known,
Would make thee more unhappy: 'Twill be found,
Though I am silent.

Œdip. Old and obstinate! Then thou thyself
Art author or accomplice of this murther,
And shun'st the justice, which by public ban
Thou hast incurred.

Tir. O, if the guilt were mine,
It were not half so great: Know, wretched man,
Thou only, thou art guilty! thy own curse
Falls heavy on thyself.

Œdip. Speak this again:
But speak it to the winds, when they are loudest,
Or to the raging seas; they'll hear as soon,
And sooner will believe.

Tir. Then hear me, heaven!
180 For, blushing, thou hast seen it; hear me, earth,
Whose hollow womb could not contain this murder,
But sent it back to light! And thou, hell, hear me!
Whose own black seal has 'firmed this horrid truth,
Œdipus murthered Laius!

Œdip. Rot the tongue,
And blasted be the mouth that spoke that lie!
Thou blind of sight, but thou more blind of soul!

Tir. Thy parents thought not so.

Œdip. Who were my parents?

Tir. Thou shalt know too soon.

Œdip. Why seek I truth from thee?
The smiles of courtiers, and the harlot's tears,
The tradesman's oaths, and mourning of an heir,
Are truths to what priests tell.
O why has priest-hood privilege to lie,
And yet to be believed!—thy age protects thee.

Tir. Thou canst not kill me; 'tis not in thy fate,
As 'twas to kill thy father, wed thy mother,
And beget sons, thy brothers[9].

Œdip. Riddles, riddles!

Tir. Thou art thyself a riddle; a perplext
Obscure enigma, which when thou unty'st,
Thou shalt be found and lost.

Œdip. Impossible!—
Adrastus, speak; and, as thou art a king,
Whose royal word is sacred, clear my fame.

Adr. Would I could!

Œdip. Ha, wilt thou not? Can that plebeian vice
Of lying mount to kings? Can they be tainted?
Then truth is lost on earth.

Cre. The cheat's too gross.
Adrastus is his oracle, and he,
The pious juggler, but Adrastus' organ.

181 Œdip. 'Tis plain, the priest's suborned to free the prisoner.

Cre. And turn the guilt, on you.

Œdip. O, honest Creon, how hast thou been belied!

Eur. Hear me.

Cre. She's bribed to save her lover's life.

Adr. If, Œdipus, thou think'st—

Cre. Hear him not speak.

Adr. Then hear these holy men.

Cre. Priests, priests; all bribed, all priests.

Œdip. Adrastus, I have found thee:
The malice of a vanquished man has seized thee!

Adr. If envy and not truth—

Œdip. I'll hear no more: Away with him. [Hæmon takes him off by force: Creon and Eurydice follow.
[To Tir.] Why stand'st thou here, impostor?
So old, and yet so wicked,—Lie for gain?
And gain so short as age can promise thee!

Tir. So short a time as I have yet to live,
Exceeds thy 'pointed hour;—remember Laius!
No more; if e'er we meet again, 'twill be
In mutual darkness; we shall feel before us
To reach each other's hand;—remember Laius! [Exit Tiresias: Priests follow.

Œdipus solus.

Remember Laius! that's the burden still:
Murther and incest! but to hear them named
My soul starts in me: The good sentinel
Stands to her weapons, takes the first alarm
To guard me from such crimes.—Did I kill Laius?
Then I walked sleeping, in some frightful dream;
My soul then stole my body out by night;
And brought me back to bed ere morning-wake
It cannot be even this remotest way,
182 But some dark hint would justle forward now,
And goad my memory.—Oh my Jocasta!

Enter Jocasta.

Joc. Why are you thus disturbed?

Œdip. Why, would'st thou think it?
No less than murder.

Joc. Murder! what of murder?

Œdip. Is murder then no more? add parricide,
And incest; bear not these a frightful sound?

Joc. Alas!

Œdip. How poor a pity is alas,
For two such crimes!—was Laius us'd to lie?

Joc. Oh no: The most sincere, plain, honest man;
One who abhorred a lie.

Œdip. Then he has got that quality in hell.
He charges me—but why accuse I him?
I did not hear him speak it: They accuse me,—
The priest, Adrastus and Eurydice,—
Of murdering Laius!—Tell me, while I think on't,
Has old Tiresias practised long this trade?

Joc. What trade?

Œdip. Why, this foretelling trade.

Joc. For many years.

Œdip. Has he before this day accused me?

Joc. Never.

Œdip. Have you ere this inquired who did this murder?

Joc. Often; but still in vain.

Œdip. I am satisfied.
Then 'tis an infant-lye; but one day old.
The oracle takes place before the priest;
The blood of Laius was to murder Laius:
I'm not of Laius' blood.

Joc. Even oracles
Are always doubtful, and are often forged:
183 Laius had one, which never was fulfilled,
Nor ever can be now.

Œdip. And what foretold it?

Joc. That he should have a son by me, foredoomed
The murderer of his father: True, indeed,
A son was born; but, to prevent that crime,
The wretched infant of a guilty fate,
Bored through his untried feet, and bound with cords,
On a bleak mountain naked was exposed:
The king himself lived many, many years,
And found a different fate; by robbers murdered,
Where three ways met: Yet these are oracles,
And this the faith we owe them.

Œdip. Sayest thou, woman?
By heaven, thou hast awakened somewhat in me,
That shakes my very soul!

Joc. What new disturbance?

Œdip. Methought thou said'st—(or do I dream thou said'st it!)
This murder was on Laius' person done,
Where three ways meet?

Joc. So common fame reports.

Œdip. Would it had lied!

Joc. Why, good my lord?

Œdip. No questions.
'Tis busy time with me; despatch mine first;
Say where, where was it done!

Joc. Mean you the murder?

Œdip. Could'st thou not answer without naming murder?

Joc. They say in Phocide; on the verge that parts it
From Daulia, and from Delphos.

Œdip. So!—How long? when happened this?

184 Joc. Some little time before you came to Thebes.

Œdip. What will the gods do with me!

Joc. What means that thought?

Œdip. Something: But 'tis not yet your turn to ask:
How old was Laius, what his shape, his stature,
His action, and his mien? quick, quick, your answer!—

Joc. Big made he was, and tall: His port was fierce,
Erect his countenance: Manly majesty
Sate in his front, and darted from his eyes,
Commanding all he viewed: His hair just grizzled,
As in a green old age: Bate but his years,
You are his picture.

Œdip. [Aside.] Pray heaven he drew me not!—
Am I his picture?

Joc. So I have often told you.

Œdip. True, you have;
Add that unto the rest:—How was the king
Attended, when he travelled?

Joc. By four servants:
He went out private.

Œdip. Well counted still:—
One 'scaped, I hear; what since became of him?

Joc. When he beheld you first, as king in Thebes,
He kneeled, and trembling begged I would dismiss him:
He had my leave; and now he lives retired.

Œdip. This man must be produced: he must, Jocasta.

Joc. He shall—yet have I leave to ask you why?

Œdip. Yes, you shall know: For where should I repose
The anguish of my soul, but in your breast!
I need not tell you Corinth claims my birth;
My parents, Polybus and Merope,
185 Two royal names; their only child am I.
It happened once,—'twas at a bridal feast,—
One, warm with wine, told me I was a foundling,
Not the king's son; I, stung with this reproach,
Struck him: My father heard of it: The man
Was made ask pardon; and the business hushed.

Joc. 'Twas somewhat odd.

Œdip. And strangely it perplexed me.
I stole away to Delphos, and implored
The god, to tell my certain parentage.
He bade me seek no farther:—'Twas my fate
To kill my father, and pollute his bed,
By marrying her who bore me.

Joc. Vain, vain oracles!

Œdip. But yet they frighted me;
I looked on Corinth as a place accurst,
Resolved my destiny should wait in vain,
And never catch me there.

Joc. Too nice a fear.

Œdip. Suspend your thoughts; and flatter not too soon.
Just in the place you named, where three ways met.
And near that time, five persons I encountered;
One was too like, (heaven grant it prove not him!)
Whom you describe for Laius: insolent,
And fierce they were, as men who lived on spoil.
I judged them robbers, and by force repelled
The force they used: In short, four men I slew:
The fifth upon his knees demanding life,
My mercy gave it;—Bring me comfort now.
If I slew Laius, what can be more wretched!
From Thebes, and you, my curse has banished me:
From Corinth, fate.

Joc. Perplex not thus your mind.
My husband fell by multitudes opprest;
So Phorbas said: This band you chanced to meet:
186 And murdered not my Laius, but revenged him.

Œdip. There's all my hope: Let Phorbas tell me this,
And I shall live again.—
To you, good gods, I make my last appeal;
Or clear my virtue, or my crime reveal:
If wandering in the maze of fate I run,
And backward trod the paths I sought to shun,
Impute my errors to your own decree;
My hands are guilty, but my heart is free.[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Enter Pyracmon and Creon.

Pyr. Some business of import, that triumph wears,
You seem to go with; nor is it hard to guess
When you are pleased, by a malicious joy,
Whose red and fiery beams cast through your visage
A glowing pleasure. Sure you smile revenge,
And I could gladly hear.

Cre. Would'st thou believe!
This giddy hair-brained king, whom old Tiresias
Has thunder-struck with heavy accusation,
Though conscious of no inward guilt, yet fears:
He fears Jocasta, fears himself, his shadow;
He fears the multitude; and,—which is worth
An age of laughter,—out of all mankind,
He chuses me to be his orator;
Swears that Adrastus, and the lean-looked prophet[10],
Are joint conspirators; and wished me to
187 Appease the raving Thebans; which I swore
To do.

Pyr. A dangerous undertaking;
Directly opposite to your own interest.

Cre. No, dull Pyracmon; when I left his presence
With all the wings, with which revenge could aid
My flight, I gained the midst o'the city;
There, standing on a pile of dead and dying,
I to the mad and sickly multitude,
With interrupting sobs, cry'd out,—O Thebes!
O wretched Thebes, thy king, thy Œdipus,
This barbarous stranger, this usurper, monster,
Is by the oracle, the wise Tiresias,
Proclaimed the murderer of thy royal Laius:
Jocasta too, no longer now my sister,
Is found complotter in the horrid deed.
Here I renounce all tie of blood and nature,
For thee, O Thebes, dear Thebes, poor bleeding Thebes!—
And there I wept, and then the rabble howled.
And roared, and with a thousand antic mouths
Gabbled revenge! revenge was all the cry.

Pyr. This cannot fail: I see you on the throne:
And Œdipus cast out.

Cre. Then strait came on
Alcander, with a wild and bellowing crowd,
Whom he had wrought; I whispered him to join.
And head the forces while the heat was in them.
So to the palace I returned, to meet
The king, and greet him with another story.—
But see, he enters.

Enter Œdipus and Jocasta, attended.

Œdip. Said you that Phorbas is returned, and yet
Intreats he may return, without being asked
188 Of aught concerning what we have discovered?

Joc. He started when I told him your intent,
Replying, what he knew of that affair
Would give no satisfaction to the king;
Then, falling on his knees, begged, as for life,
To be dismissed from court: He trembled too,
As if convulsive death had seized upon him,
And stammered in his abrupt prayer so wildly,
That had he been the murderer of Laius,
Guilt and distraction could not have shook him more.

Œdip. By your description, sure as plagues and death
Lay waste our Thebes, some deed that shuns the light
Begot those fears; if thou respect'st my peace,
Secure him, dear Jocasta; for my genius
Shrinks at his name.

Joc. Rather let him go:
So my poor boding heart would have it be,
Without a reason.

Œdip. Hark, the Thebans come!
Therefore retire: And, once more, if thou lovest me,
Let Phorbas be retained.

Joc. You shall, while I
Have life, be still obeyed.
In vain you sooth me with your soft endearments,
And set the fairest countenance to view;
Your gloomy eyes, my lord, betray a deadness
And inward languishing: That oracle
Eats like a subtle worm its venomed way,
Preys on your heart, and rots the noble core,
Howe'er the beauteous out-side shews so lovely.

Œdip. O, thou wilt kill me with thy love's excess!
All, all is well; retire, the Thebans come.[Exit Joc.

Ghost. Œdipus!

Œdip. Ha! again that scream of woe!
189 Thrice have I heard, thrice, since the morning dawned,
It hollowed loud, as if my guardian spirit
Called from some vaulted mansion, Œdipus!
Or is it but the work of melancholy?
When the sun sets, shadows, that shewed at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible;
So, when we think fate hovers o'er our heads,
Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds;
Owls, ravens, crickets seem the watch of death;
Nature's worst vermin scare her godlike sons;
Echoes, the very leavings of a voice,
Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves;
Each mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus;
While we fantastic dreamers heave and puff,
And sweat with an imagination's weight;
As if, like Atlas, with these mortal shoulders
We could sustain the burden of the world.[Creon comes forward.

Cre. O, sacred sir, my royal lord—

Œdip. What now?
Thou seem'st affrighted at some dreadful action;
Thy breath comes short, thy darted eyes are fixt
On me for aid, as if thou wert pursued:
I sent thee to the Thebans; speak thy wonder:
Fear not; this palace is a sanctuary,
The king himself's thy guard.

Cre. For me, alas,
My life's not worth a thought, when weighed with yours!
But fly, my lord; fly as your life is sacred.
Your fate is precious to your faithful Creon,
Who therefore, on his knees, thus prostrate begs
You would remove from Thebes, that vows your ruin.
When I but offered at your innocence,
They gathered stones, and menaced me with death,
190 And drove me through the streets, with imprecations
Against your sacred person, and those traitors
Who justified your guilt, which cursed Tiresias
Told, as from heaven, was cause of their destruction.

Œdip. Rise, worthy Creon; haste and take our guard,
Rank them in equal part upon the square,
Then open every gate of this our palace,
And let the torrent in. Hark, it comes.[Shout.
I hear them roar: Begone, and break down all
The dams, that would oppose their furious passage. [Exit Creon with Guards.

Enter Adrastus, his sword drawn.

Adr. Your city
Is all in arms, all bent to your destruction:
I heard but now, where I was close confined,
A thundering shout, which made my jailors vanish,
Cry,—fire the palace! where is the cruel king?
Yet, by the infernal Gods, those awful powers
That have accused you, which these ears have heard,
And these eyes seen, I must believe you guiltless;
For, since I knew the royal Œdipus,
I have observed in all his acts such truth,
And god-like clearness, that, to the last gush
Of blood and spirits, I'll defend his life,
And here have sworn to perish by his side.

Œdip. Be witness, Gods, how near this touches me. [Embracing him.
O what, what recompence can glory make?

Adr. Defend your innocence, speak like yourself,
And awe the rebels with your dauntless virtue.
But hark! the storm comes nearer.

Œdip. Let it come.
The force of majesty is never known
But in a general wreck: Then, then is seen
The difference 'twixt a threshold and a throne.

191 Enter Creon, Pyracmon, Alcander, Tiresias, Thebans.

Alc. Where, where's this cruel king?—Thebans, behold,
There stands your plague, the ruin, desolation
Of this unhappy—speak; shall I kill him?
Or shall he be cast out to banishment?

All Theb. To banishment, away with him!

Œdip. Hence, you barbarians, to your slavish distance!
Fix to the earth your sordid looks; for he,
Who stirs, dares more than madmen, fiends, or furies.
Who dares to face me, by the Gods, as well
May brave the majesty of thundering Jove.
Did I for this relieve you, when besieged
By this fierce prince, when cooped within your walls,
And to the very brink of fate reduced;
When lean-jawed famine made more havock of you,
Than does the plague? But I rejoice I know you,
Know the base stuff that tempered your vile souls:
The Gods be praised, I needed not your empire,
Born to a greater, nobler, of my own;
Nor shall the sceptre of the earth now win me
To rule such brutes, so barbarous a people.

Adr. Methinks, my lord, I see a sad repentance,
A general consternation spread among them.

Œdip. My reign is at an end; yet, ere I finish,
I'll do a justice that becomes a monarch;
A monarch, who, in the midst of swords and javelins,
Dares act as on his throne, encompast round
With nations for his guard. Alcander, you
Are nobly born, therefore shall lose your head:[Seizes him.
Here, Hæmon, take him: but for this, and this,
Let cords dispatch them. Hence, away with them!

Tir. O sacred prince, pardon distracted Thebes,
192 Pardon her, if she acts by heaven's award;
If that the infernal spirits have declared
The depth of fate; and if our oracles
May speak, O do not too severely deal!
But let thy wretched Thebes at least complain.
If thou art guilty, heaven will make it known;
If innocent, then let Tiresias die.

Œdip. I take thee at thy word.—Run, haste, and save Alcander:
I swear, the prophet, or the king shall die.
Be witness, all you Thebans, of my oath;
And Phorbas be the umpire.

Tir. I submit.[Trumpet sounds.

Œdip. What mean those trumpets?

Enter Hæmon with Alcander, &c.

Hæm. From your native country,
Great sir, the famed Ægeon is arrived,
That renowned favourite of the king your father:
He comes as an ambassador from Corinth,
And sues for audience.

Œdip. Haste, Hæmon, fly, and tell him that I burn
To embrace him.

Hæm. The queen, my lord, at present holds him
In private conference; but behold her here.

Enter Jocasta, Eurydice, &c.

Joc. Hail, happy Œdipus, happiest of kings!
Henceforth be blest, blest as thou canst desire;
Sleep without fears the blackest nights away;
Let furies haunt thy palace, thou shalt sleep
Secure, thy slumbers shall be soft and gentle
As infants' dreams.

Œdip. What does the soul of all my joys intend?
And whither would this rapture?

Joc. O, I could rave,
Pull down those lying fanes, and burn that vault,
193 From whence resounded those false oracles,
That robbed my love of rest: If we must pray,
Rear in the streets bright altars to the Gods,
Let virgins' hands adorn the sacrifice;
And not a grey-beard forging priest come near,
To pry into the bowels of the victim,
And with his dotage mad the gaping world.
But see, the oracle that I will trust,
True as the Gods, and affable as men.

Enter Ægeon. Kneels.

Œdip. O, to my arms, welcome, my dear Ægeon;
Ten thousand welcomes! O, my foster-father,
Welcome as mercy to a man condemned!
Welcome to me, as, to a sinking mariner,
The lucky plank that bears him to the shore!
But speak, O tell me what so mighty joy
Is this thou bring'st, which so transports Jocasta?

Joc. Peace, peace, Ægeon, let Jocasta tell him!—
O that I could for ever charm, as now,
My dearest Œdipus! Thy royal father,
Polybus, king of Corinth, is no more.

Œdip. Ha! can it be? Ægeon, answer me;
And speak in short, what my Jocasta's transport
May over-do.

Æge. Since in few words, my royal lord, you ask
To know the truth,—king Polybus is dead.

Œdip. O all you powers, is't possible? what, dead!
But that the tempest of my joy may rise
By just degrees, and hit at last the stars,
Say, how, how died he? ha! by sword, by fire,
Or water? by assassinates, or poison? speak:
Or did he languish under some disease?

Æge. Of no distemper, of no blast he died,
But fell like autumn-fruit that mellowed long;
Even wondered at, because he dropt no sooner.
194 Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years;
Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more:
Till, like a clock worn out with eating time,
The wheels of weary life at last stood still.

Œdip. O, let me press thee in my youthful arms,
And smother thy old age in my embraces.
Yes, Thebans, yes, Jocasta, yes, Adrastus,
Old Polybus, the king my father's dead!
Fires shall be kindled in the midst of Thebes;
In the midst of tumult, wars, and pestilence,
I will rejoice for Polybus's death.
Know, be it known to the limits of the world;
Yet farther, let it pass yon dazzling roof,
The mansion of the Gods, and strike them deaf
With everlasting peals of thundering joy.

Tir. Fate! Nature! Fortune! what is all this world?

Œdip. Now, dotard; now, thou blind old wizard prophet,
Where are your boding ghosts, your altars now;
Your birds of knowledge, that in dusky air
Chatter futurity? And where are now
Your oracles, that called me parricide?
Is he not dead? deep laid in his monument?
And was not I in Thebes when fate attacked him?
Avaunt, begone, you vizors of the Gods!
Were I as other sons, now I should weep;
But, as I am, I have reason to rejoice:
And will, though his cold shade should rise and blast me.
O, for this death, let waters break their bounds;
Rocks, valleys, hills, with splitting Io's ring:
Io, Jocasta, Io pæan sing!

Tir. Who would not now conclude a happy end!
But all fate's turns are swift and unexpected.

Æge. Your royal mother Merope, as if
She had no soul since you forsook the land,
Waves all the neighbouring princes that adore her.

195 Œdip. Waves all the princes! poor heart! for what?
O speak.

Æge. She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty,
Grows cold, even in the summer of her age,
And, for your sake, has sworn to die unmarried.

Œdip. How! for my sake, die and not marry! O
My fit returns.

Æge. This diamond, with a thousand kisses blest,
With thousand sighs and wishes for your safety,
She charged me give you, with the general homage
Of our Corinthian lords.

Œdip. There's magic in it, take it from my sight;
There's not a beam it darts, but carries hell,
Hot flashing lust, and necromantic incest:
Take it from these sick eyes, oh hide it from me!—
No, my Jocasta, though Thebes cast me out,
While Merope's alive, I'll ne'er return.
O, rather let me walk round the wide world
A beggar, than accept a diadem
On such abhorred conditions.

Joc. You make, my lord, your own unhappiness,
By these extravagant and needless fears.

Œdip. Needless! O, all you Gods! By heaven, I would rather
Embrue my arms, up to my very shoulders,
In the dear entrails of the best of fathers,
Than offer at the execrable act
Of damned incest: therefore no more of her.

Æge. And why, O sacred sir, if subjects may
Presume to look into their monarch's breast,
Why should the chaste and spotless Merope
Infuse such thoughts, as I must blush to name?

Œdip. Because the god of Delphos did forewarn me,
With thundering oracles.

Æge. May I entreat to know them?

Œdip. Yes, my Ægeon; but the sad remembrance
196 Quite blasts my soul: See then the swelling priest!
Methinks, I have his image now in view!—
He mounts the tripos in a minute's space,
His clouded head knocks at the temple-roof;
While from his mouth,
These dismal words are heard:
"Fly, wretch, whom fate has doomed thy father's blood to spill,
And with preposterous births thy mother's womb to fill!"

Æge. Is this the cause,
Why you refuse the diadem of Corinth?

Œdip. The cause! why, is it not a monstrous one!

Æge. Great sir, you may return; and though you should
Enjoy the queen, (which all the Gods forbid!)
The act would prove no incest.

Œdip. How, Ægeon?
Though I enjoy my mother, not incestuous!
Thou ravest, and so do I; and these all catch
My madness; look, they're dead with deep distraction:
Not incest! what, not incest with my mother?

Æge. My lord, queen Merope is not your mother.

Œdip. Ha! did I hear thee right? not Merope
My mother!

Æge. Nor was Polybus your father.

Œdip. Then all my days and nights must now be spent
In curious search, to find out those dark parents
Who gave me to the world; speak then, Ægeon.
By all the Gods celestial and infernal,
By all the ties of nature, blood and friendship,
Conceal not from this racked despairing king,
A point or smallest grain of what thou knowest:
Speak then, O answer to my doubts directly,
If royal Polybus was not my father,
Why was I called his son?

197 Æge. He from my arms
Received you, as the fairest gift of nature.
Not but you were adorned with all the riches
That empire could bestow, in costly mantles,
Upon its infant heir.

Œdip. But was I made the heir of Corinth's crown,
Because Ægeon's hands presented me?

Æge. By my advice,
Being past all hope of children,
He took, embraced, and owned you for his son.

Œdip. Perhaps I then am yours; instruct me, sir;
If it be so, I'll kneel and weep before you.
With all the obedience of a penitent child,
Imploring pardon.
Kill me, if you please;
I will not writhe my body at the wound,
But sink upon your feet with a last sigh,
And ask forgiveness with my dying hands.

Æge. O rise, and call not to this aged cheek
The little blood which should keep warm my heart;
You are not mine, nor ought I to be blest
With such a god-like offspring. Sir, I found you
Upon the mount Cithæron.

Œdip. O speak, go on, the air grows sensible
Of the great things you utter, and is calm:
The hurried orbs, with storms so racked of late,
Seem to stand still, as if that Jove were talking.
Cithæron! speak, the valley of Cithæron!

Æge. Oft-times before, I thither did resort,
Charmed with the conversation of a man,
Who led a rural life, and had command
O'er all the shepherds, who about those vales
Tended their numerous flocks: in this man's arms,
I saw you smiling at a fatal dagger,
Whose point he often offered at your throat;
But then you smiled, and then he drew it back,
Then lifted it again,—you smiled again:
'Till he at last in fury threw it from him,
198 And cried aloud,—The Gods forbid thy death.
Then I rushed in, and, after some discourse,
To me he did bequeath your innocent life;
And I, the welcome care to Polybus.

Œdip. To whom belongs the master of the shepherds?

Æge. His name I knew not, or I have forgot:
That he was of the family of Laius,
I well remember.

Œdip. And is your friend alive? for if he be,
I'll buy his presence, though it cost my crown.

Æge. Your menial attendants best can tell
Whether he lives, or not; and who has now
His place.

Joc. Winds, bear me to some barren island,
Where print of human feet was never seen;
O'er-grown with weeds of such a monstrous height,
Their baleful tops are washed with bellying clouds;
Beneath whose venomous shade I may have vent
For horrors, that would blast the barbarous world!

Œdip. If there be any here that knows the person
Whom he described, I charge him on his life
To speak; concealment shall be sudden death:
But he, who brings him forth, shall have reward
Beyond ambition's lust.

Tir. His name is Phorbas:
Jocasta knows him well; but, if I may
Advise, rest where you are, and seek no farther.

Œdip. Then all goes well, since Phorbas is secured
By my Jocasta.—Haste, and bring him forth:
My love, my queen, give orders, Ha! what mean
These tears, and groans, and strugglings? speak, my fair,
What are thy troubles?

Joc. Yours; and yours are mine:
Let me conjure you, take the prophet's counsel,
And let this Phorbas go.

199 Œdip. Not for the world.
By all the Gods, I'll know my birth, though death
Attends the search. I have already past
The middle of the stream; and to return,
Seems greater labour than to venture over:
Therefore produce him.

Joc. Once more, by the Gods,
I beg, my Œdipus, my lord, my life,
My love, my all, my only, utmost hope!
I beg you, banish Phorbas: O, the Gods,
I kneel, that you may grant this first request.
Deny me all things else; but for my sake,
And as you prize your own eternal quiet,
Never let Phorbas come into your presence.

Œdip. You must be raised, and Phorbas shall appear,
Though his dread eyes were basilisks. Guards, haste,
Search the queen's lodgings; find, and force him hither. [Exeunt Guards.

Joc. O, Œdipus, yet send,
And stop their entrance, ere it be too late;
Unless you wish to see Jocasta rent
With furies,—slain out-right with mere distraction!
Keep from your eyes and mine the dreadful Phorbas.
Forbear this search, I'll think you more than mortal;
Will you yet hear me?

Œdip. Tempests will be heard,
And waves will dash, though rocks their basis keep.
But see, they enter. If thou truly lovest me,
Either forbear this subject, or retire.

Enter Hæmon, Guards, with Phorbas.

Joc. Prepare then, wretched prince, prepare to hear
A story, that shall turn thee into stone.
Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature,
A flaw made through the centre, by some God,
200 Through which the groans of ghosts may strike thy ears,
They would not wound thee, as this story will.
Hark, hark! a hollow voice calls out aloud,
Jocasta! Yes, I'll to the royal bed,
Where first the mysteries of our loves were acted,
And double-dye it with imperial crimson;
Tear off this curling hair,
Be gorged with fire, stab every vital part,
And, when at last I'm slain, to crown the horror,
My poor tormented ghost shall cleave the ground,
To try if hell can yet more deeply wound.[Exit.

Œdip. She's gone; and, as she went, methought her eyes
Grew larger, while a thousand frantic spirits,
Seething like rising bubbles on the brim,
Peeped from the watry brink, and glowed upon me.
I'll seek no more; but hush my genius up,
That throws me on my fate.—Impossible!
O wretched man, whose too too busy thoughts
Hide swifter than the gallopping heaven's round,
With an eternal hurry of the soul.
Nay, there's a time when even the rolling year
Seems to stand still, dead calms are in the ocean,
When not a breath disturbs the drowzy waves:
But man, the very monster of the world,
Is ne'er at rest; the soul for ever wakes.
Come then, since destiny thus drives us on,
Let us know the bottom.—Hæmon, you I sent;
Where is that Phorbas?

Hæm. Here, my royal lord.

Œdip. Speak first, Ægeon, say, is this the man?

Æge. My lord, it is; Though time has ploughed that face
With many furrows since I saw it first,
Yet I'm too well acquainted with the ground,
Quite to forget it.

201 Œdip. Peace; stand back a while.—
Come hither, friend; I hear thy name is Phorbas.
Why dost thou turn thy face? I charge thee answer
To what I shall enquire: Wert thou not once
The servant to king Laius here in Thebes?

Phor. I was, great sir, his true and faithful servant;
Born and bred up in court, no foreign slave.

Œdip. What office hadst thou? what was thy employment?

Phor. He made me lord of all his rural pleasures;
For much he loved them: oft I entertained him
With sporting swains, o'er whom I had command.

Œdip. Where was thy residence? to what part of the country
Didst thou most frequently resort?

Phor. To mount Cithæron, and the pleasant vallies
Which all about lie shadowing its large feet.

Œdip. Come forth, Ægeon.—Ha! why start'st thou, Phorbas?
Forward, I say, and face to face confront him:
Look wistly on him,—through him, if thou canst!
And tell me on thy life, say, dost thou know him?
Didst thou e'er see him? e'er converse with him
Near mount Cithæron?

Phor. Who, my lord, this man?

Œdip. This man, this old, this venerable man:
Speak, did'st thou ever meet him there?

Phor. Where, sacred sir?

Œdip. Near mount Cithæron; answer to the purpose,
'Tis a king speaks; and royal minutes are
Of much more worth than thousand vulgar years:
Did'st thou e'er see this man near mount Cithæron?

Phor. Most sure, my lord, I have seen lines like those
His visage bears; but know not where, nor when.

202 Æge. Is't possible you should forget your ancient friend?
There are, perhaps,
Particulars, which may excite your dead remembrance.
Have you forgot I took an infant from you,
Doomed to be murdered in that gloomy vale?
The swaddling-bands were purple, wrought with gold.
Have you forgot, too, how you wept, and begged
That I should breed him up, and ask no more?

Phor. Whate'er I begged, thou, like a dotard, speak'st
More than is requisite; and what of this?
Why is it mentioned now? And why, O why
Dost thou betray the secrets of thy friend?

Æge. Be not too rash. That infant grew at last
A king; and here the happy monarch stands.

Phor. Ha! whither would'st thou? O what hast thou uttered!
For what thou hast said, death strike thee dumb for ever!

Œdip. Forbear to curse the innocent; and be
Accurst thyself, thou shifting traitor, villain,
Damned hypocrite, equivocating slave!

Phor. O heavens! wherein, my lord, have I offended?

Œdip. Why speak you not according to my charge?
Bring forth the rack: since mildness cannot win you,
Torments shall force.

Phor. Hold, hold, O dreadful sir!
You will not rack an innocent old man?

Œdip. Speak then.

Phor. Alas! What would you have me say?

Œdip. Did this old man take from your arms an infant?

Phor. He did: And, Oh! I wish to all the gods,
Phorbas had perished in that very moment.

203 Œdip. Moment! Thou shalt be hours, days, years, a dying.—
Here, bind his hands; he dallies with my fury:
But I shall find a way—

Phor. My lord, I said
I gave the infant to him.

Œdip. Was he thy own, or given thee by another?

Phor. He was not mine, but given me by another.

Œdip. Whence? and from whom? what city? of what house?

Phor. O, royal sir, I bow me to the ground;
Would I could sink beneath it! by the gods,
I do conjure you to inquire no more.

Œdip. Furies and hell! Hæmon, bring forth the rack,
Fetch hither cords, and knives, and sulphurous flames:
He shall be bound and gashed, his skin flead off,
And burnt alive.

Phor. O spare my age.

Œdip. Rise then, and speak.

Phor. Dread sir, I will.

Œdip. Who gave that infant to thee?

Phor. One of king Laius' family.

Œdip. O, you immortal gods!—But say, who was't?
Which of the family of Laius gave it?
A servant, or one of the royal blood?

Phor. O wretched state! I die, unless I speak;
And if I speak, most certain death attends me!

Œdip. Thou shalt not die. Speak, then, who was it? speak,
While I have sense to understand the horror;
For I grow cold.

Phor. The queen Jocasta told me,
It was her son by Laius.

Œdip. O you gods!—But did she give it thee?

Phor. My lord, she did.

204 Œdip. Wherefore? for what?—O break not yet, my heart;
Though my eyes burst, no matter:—wilt thou tell me,
Or must I ask for ever? for what end,
Why gave she thee her child?

Phor. To murder it.

Œdip. O more than savage! murder her own bowels,
Without a cause!

Phor. There was a dreadful one,
Which had foretold, that most unhappy son
Should kill his father, and enjoy his mother.

Œdip. But one thing more.
Jocasta told me, thou wert by the chariot
When the old king was slain: Speak, I conjure thee,
For I shall never ask thee aught again,—
What was the number of the assassinates?

Phor. The dreadful deed was acted but by one;
And sure that one had much of your resemblance.

Œdip. 'Tis well! I thank you, gods! 'tis wondrous well!
Daggers, and poison! O there is no need
For my dispatch: And you, you merciless powers,
Hoard up your thunder-stones; keep, keep your bolts,
For crimes of little note.[Falls.

Adr. Help, Hæmon, help, and bow him gently forward;
Chafe, chafe his temples: How the mighty spirits,
Half-strangled with the damp his sorrows raised,
Struggle for vent! But see, he breathes again,
And vigorous nature breaks through opposition.—
How fares my royal friend?

Œdip. The worse for you.
O barbarous men, and oh the hated light,
Why did you force me back, to curse the day;
To curse my friends; to blast with this dark breath
205 The yet untainted earth and circling air?
To raise new plagues, and call new vengeance down,
Why did you tempt the gods, and dare to touch me?
Methinks there's not a hand that grasps this hell,
But should run up like flax all blazing fire.
Stand from this spot, I wish you as my friends,
And come not near me, lest the gaping earth
Swallow you too.—Lo, I am gone already. [Draws, and claps his Sword to his Breast, which Adrastus strikes away with his Foot.

Adr. You shall no more be trusted with your life:—
Creon, Alcander, Hæmon, help to hold him.

Œdip. Cruel Adrastus! wilt thou, Hæmon, too?
Are these the obligations of my friends?
O worse than worst of my most barbarous foes!
Dear, dear Adrastus, look with half an eye
On my unheard of woes, and judge thyself,
If it be fit that such a wretch should live!
O, by these melting eyes, unused to weep,
With all the low submissions of a slave,
I do conjure thee, give my horrors way!
Talk not of life, for that will make me rave:
As well thou may'st advise a tortured wretch,
All mangled o'er from head to foot with wounds,
And his bones broke, to wait a better day.

Adr. My lord, you ask me things impossible;
And I with justice should be thought your foe,
To leave you in this tempest of your soul.

Tir. Though banished Thebes, in Corinth you may reign;
The infernal powers themselves exact no more:
Calm then your rage, and once more seek the gods.

Œdip. I'll have no more to do with gods, nor men;
Hence, from my arms, avaunt. Enjoy thy mother!
What, violate, with bestial appetite,
The sacred veils that wrapt thee yet unborn!
206 This is not to be borne! Hence; off, I say!
For they, who let my vengeance, make themselves
Accomplices in my most horrid guilt.

Adr. Let it be so; we'll fence heav'n's fury from you,
And suffer all together. This, perhaps,
When ruin comes, may help to break your fall.

Œdip. O that, as oft I have at Athens seen
The stage arise, and the big clouds descend;
So now, in very deed I might behold
The pond'rous earth, and all yon marble roof
Meet, like the hand of Jove, and crush mankind!
For all the elements, and all the powers
Celestial, nay, terrestrial, and infernal,
Conspire the wreck of out-cast Œdipus!
Fall darkness then, and everlasting night
Shadow the globe; may the sun never dawn;
The silver moon be blotted from her orb;
And for an universal rout of nature
Through all the inmost chambers of the sky,
May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark,
But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark;
That jars may rise, and wrath divine be hurled,
Which may to atoms shake the solid world![Exeunt.

ACT V.—SCENE I.

Enter Creon, Alcander, and Pyracmon.

Creon. Thebes is at length my own; and all my wishes,
Which sure were great as royalty e'er formed,
Fortune and my auspicious stars have crowned.
O diadem, thou centre of ambition,
Where all its different lines are reconciled,
As if thou wert the burning glass of glory!

207 Pyr. Might I be counsellor, I would intreat you
To cool a little, sir; find out Eurydice;
And, with the resolution of a man
Marked out for greatness, give the fatal choice
Of death or marriage.

Alc. Survey cursed Œdipus,
As one who, though unfortunate, beloved,
Thought innocent, and therefore much lamented
By all the Thebans: you must mark him dead,
Since nothing but his death, not banishment,
Can give assurance to your doubtful reign.

Cre. Well have you done, to snatch me from the storm
Of racking transport, where the little streams
Of love, revenge, and all the under passions,
As waters are by sucking whirlpools drawn,
Were quite devoured in the vast gulph of empire.
Therefore, Pyracmon, as you boldly urged,
Eurydice shall die, or be my bride.
Alcander, summon to their master's aid
My menial servants, and all those whom change
Of state, and hope of the new monarch's favour,
Can win to take our part: Away.—What now?[Exit Alcander.

Enter Hæmon.

When Hæmon weeps, without the help of ghosts
I may foretel there is a fatal cause.

Hæm. Is't possible you should be ignorant
Of what has happened to the desperate king?

Cre. I know no more but that he was conducted
Into his closet, where I saw him fling
His trembling body on the royal bed;
All left him there, at his desire, alone;
But sure no ill, unless he died with grief,
Could happen, for you bore his sword away.

208 Hæm. I did; and, having locked the door, I stood;
And through a chink I found, not only heard,
But saw him, when he thought no eye beheld him.
At first, deep sighs heaved from his woful heart
Murmurs, and groans that shook the outward rooms.
And art thou still alive, O wretch! he cried;
Then groaned again, as if his sorrowful soul
Had cracked the strings of life, and burst away.

Cre. I weep to hear; how then should I have grieved,
Had I beheld this wondrous heap of sorrow!
But, to the fatal period.

Hæm. Thrice he struck,
With all his force, his hollow groaning breast,
And thus, with outcries, to himself complained:—
But thou canst weep then, and thou think'st 'tis well,
These bubbles of the shallowest emptiest sorrow,
Which children vent for toys, and women rain
For any trifle their fond hearts are set on;
Yet these thou think'st are ample satisfaction
For bloodiest murder, and for burning lust:
No, parricide! if thou must weep, weep blood;
Weep eyes, instead of tears:—O, by the gods!
'Tis greatly thought, he cried, and fits my woes.
Which said, he smiled revengefully, and leapt
Upon the floor; thence gazing at the skies,
His eye-balls fiery red, and glowing vengeance,—
Gods I accuse you not, though I no more
Will view your heaven, till, with more durable glasses,
The mighty soul's immortal perspectives,
I find your dazzling beings: Take, he cried,
Take, eyes, your last, your fatal farewel-view.
Then with a groan, that seemed the call of death,
With horrid force lifting his impious hands,
He snatched, he tore, from forth their bloody orbs,
The balls of sight, and dashed them on the ground.

Cre. A master-piece of horror; new and dreadful!

Hæm. I ran to succour him; but, oh! too late;
209 For he had plucked the remnant strings away.
What then remains, but that I find Tiresias,
Who, with his wisdom, may allay those furies,
That haunt his gloomy soul?[Exit.

Cre. Heaven will reward
Thy care, most honest, faithful,—foolish Hæmon!
But see, Alcander enters, well attended.

Enter Alcander, attended.

I see thou hast been diligent.

Alc. Nothing these,
For number, to the crowds that soon will follow;
Be resolute,
And call your utmost fury to revenge.

Cre. Ha! thou hast given
The alarm to cruelty; and never may
These eyes be closed, till they behold Adrastus
Stretched at the feet of false Eurydice.
But see, they are here! retire a while, and mark.

Enter Adrastus, and Eurydice, attended.

Adr. Alas, Eurydice, what fond rash man,
What inconsiderate and ambitious fool,
That shall hereafter read the fate of Œdipus,
Will dare, with his frail hand, to grasp a sceptre?

Eur. 'Tis true, a crown seems dreadful, and I wish
That you and I, more lowly placed, might pass
Our softer hours in humble cells away:
Not but I love you to that infinite height,
I could (O wondrous proof of fiercest love!)
Be greatly wretched in a court with you.

Adr. Take then this most loved innocence away;
Fly from tumultuous Thebes, from blood and murder,
Fly from the author of all villainies,
Rapes, death, and treason, from that fury Creon:
210 Vouchsafe that I, o'er-joyed, may bear you hence,
And at your feet present the crown of Argos. [Creon and attendants come up to him.

Cre. I have o'er-heard thy black design, Adrastus,
And therefore, as a traitor to this state,
Death ought to be thy lot: Let it suffice
That Thebes surveys thee as a prince; abuse not
Her proffered mercy, but retire betimes,
Lest she repent, and hasten on thy doom.

Adr. Think not, most abject, most abhorred of men,
Adrastus will vouchsafe to answer thee;—
Thebans to you I justify my love:
I have addrest my prayer to this fair princess;
But, if I ever meant a violence,
Or thought to ravish, as that traitor did,
What humblest adorations could not win,
Brand me, you gods, blot me with foul dishonour,
And let men curse me by the name of Creon!

Eur. Hear me, O Thebans, if you dread the wrath
Of her whom fate ordained to be your queen;
Hear me, and dare not, as you prize your lives,
To take the part of that rebellious traitor.
By the decree of royal Œdipus,
By queen Jocasta's order, by what's more,
My own dear vows of everlasting love,
I here resign, to prince Adrastus' arms,
All that the world can make me mistress of.

Cre. O perjured woman!
Draw all; and when I give the word, fall on.—
Traitor, resign the princess, or this moment
Expect, with all those most unfortunate wretches,
Upon this spot straight to be hewn in pieces.

Adr. No, villain, no;
With twice those odds of men,
I doubt not in this cause to vanquish thee.—
Captain remember to your care I give
211 My love; ten thousand, thousand times more clear,
Than life or liberty.

Cre. Fall on, Alcander.—
Pyracmon you and I must wheel about
For nobler game, the princess.

Adr. Ah, traito2, dost thou shun me?
Follow, follow,
My brave companions! see, the cowards fly! [Exeunt fighting: Cruon's Party beaten off by Adrastus.

Enter Œdipus.

Œdip.O, 'tis too little this; thy loss of sight,
What has it done? I shall be gazed at now
The more; be pointed at, There goes the monster!
Nor have I hid my horrors from myself;
For, though corporeal light be lost for ever,
The bright reflecting soul, through glaring optics,
Presents in larger size her black ideas,
Doubling the bloody prospect of my crimes;
Holds fancy down, and makes her act again,
With wife and mother:—Tortures, hell and furies!
Ha! now the baleful offspring's brought to light!
In horrid form, they rank themselves before me;—
What shall I call this medley of creation?
Here one, with all the obedience of a son,
Borrowing Jocasta's look, kneels at my feet,
And calls me father; there, a sturdy boy,
Resembling Laius just as when I killed him,
Bears up, and with his cold hand grasping mine,
Cries out, how fares my brother Œdipus?
What, sons and brothers! Sisters and daughters too!
Fly all, begone, fly from my whirling brain!
Hence, incest, murder! hence, you ghastly figures!
O Gods! Gods, answer; is there any mean?
Let me go mad, or die.

212 Enter Jocasta.

Joc. Where, where is this most wretched of mankind,
This stately image of imperial sorrow,
Whose story told, whose very name but mentioned,
Would cool the rage of fevers, and unlock
The hand of lust from the pale virgin's hair,
And throw the ravisher before her feet?

Œdip. By all my fears, I think Jocasta's voice!—
Hence fly; begone! O thou far worse than worst
Of damning charmers! O abhorred, loathed creature!
Fly, by the gods, or by the fiends, I charge thee,
Far as the East, West, North, or South of heaven,
But think not thou shalt ever enter there;
The golden gates are barred with adamant,
'Gainst thee, and me; and the celestial guards,
Still as we rise, will dash our spirits down.

Joc. O wretched pair! O greatly wretched we!
Two worlds of woe!

Œdip. Art thou not gone then? ha!
How darest thou stand the fury of the gods?
Or comest thou in the grave to reap new pleasures?

Joc. Talk on, till thou mak'st mad my rolling brain;
Groan still more death; and may those dismal sources
Still bubble on, and pour forth blood and tears.
Methinks, at such a meeting, heaven stands still;
The sea, nor ebbs, nor flows; this mole-hill earth
Is heaved no more; the busy emmets cease:
Yet hear me on—

Œdip. Speak, then, and blast my soul.

Joc. O, my loved lord, though I resolve a ruin,
To match my crimes; by all my miseries,
'Tis horror, worse than thousand thousand deaths,
To send me hence without a kind farewell.

213 Œdip. Gods, how she shakes me!—stay thee, O Jocasta!
Speak something ere thou goest for ever from me!

Joc. 'Tis woman's weakness, that I would be pitied;
Pardon me then, O greatest, though most wretched.
Of all thy kind! My soul is on the brink,
And sees the boiling furnace just beneath:
Do not thou push me off, and I will go,
With such a willingness, as if that heaven
With all its glory glowed for my reception.

Œdip. O, in my heart I feel the pangs of nature;
It works with kindness o'er: give, give me way!
I feel a melting here, a tenderness,
Too mighty for the anger of the gods!
Direct me to thy knees: yet, oh forbear,
Lest the dead embers should revive.
Stand off, and at just distance
Let me groan my horrors!—here
On the earth, here blow my utmost gale;
Here sob my sorrows, till I burst with sighing;
Here gasp and languish out my wounded soul.

Joc. In spite of all those crimes the cruel gods
Can charge me with, I know my innocence;
Know yours. 'Tis fate alone that makes us wretched,
For you are still my husband.

Œdip. Swear I am,
And I'll believe thee; steal into thy arms,
Renew endearments, think them no pollutions,
But chaste as spirits' joys. Gently I'll come,
Thus weeping blind, like dewy night, upon thee,
And fold thee softly in my arms to slumber. [The Ghost of Laius ascends by degrees, pointing at Jocasta.

Joc. Begone, my lord! Alas, what are we doing?
Fly from my arms! Whirlwinds, seas, continents,
And worlds, divide us! O, thrice happy thou,
Who hast no use of eyes; for here's a sight
214 Would turn the melting face of mercy's self
To a wild fury.

Œdip. Ha! what seest thou there?

Joc. The spirit of my husband! O, the gods!
How wan he looks!

Œdip. Thou ravest; thy husband's here.

Joc. There, there he mounts
In circling fire among the blushing clouds!
And see, he waves Jocasta from the world!

Ghost. Jocasta, Œdipus. [Vanish with thunder.

Œdip. What wouldst thou have?
Thou knowest I cannot come to thee, detained
In darkness here, and kept from means of death.
I've heard a spirit's force is wonderful;
At whose approach, when starting from his dungeon,
The earth does shake, and the old ocean groans,
Rocks are removed, and towers are thundered down;
And walls of brass, and gates of adamant
Are passable as air, and fleet like winds.

Joc. Was that a raven's croak, or my son's voice?
No matter which; I'll to the grave and hide me.
Earth open, or I'll tear thy bowels up.
Hark! he goes on, and blabs the deed of incest.

Œdip. Strike then, imperial ghost; dash all at once
This house of clay into a thousand pieces;
That my poor lingering soul may take her flight
To your immortal dwellings.

Joc. Haste thee, then,
Or I shall be before thee. See,—thou canst not see!
Then I will tell thee that my wings are on.
I'll mount, I'll fly, and with a port divine
Glide all along the gaudy milky soil,
To find my Laius out; ask every god
In his bright palace, if he knows my Laius,
My murdered Laius!

Œdip. Ha! how's this, Jocasta?
Nay, if thy brain be sick, then thou art happy.
215 Joc. Ha! will you not? shall I not find him out?
Will you not show him? are my tears despised?
Why, then I'll thunder, yes, I will be mad,
And fright you with my cries. Yes, cruel gods,
Though vultures, eagles, dragons tear my heart,
I'll snatch celestial flames, fire all your dwellings,
Melt down your golden roofs, and make your doors
Of crystal fly from off their diamond hinges;
Drive you all out from your ambrosial hives,
To swarm like bees about the field of heaven.
This will I do, unless you show me Laius,
My dear, my murdered lord. O Laius! Laius! Laius! [Exit Jocasta.

Œdip. Excellent grief! why, this is as it should be!
No mourning can be suitable to crimes
Like ours, but what death makes, or madness forms.
I could have wished, methought, for sight again,
To mark the gallantry of her distraction;
Her blazing eyes darting the wandering stars,
To have seen her mouth the heavens, and mate the gods,
While with her thundering voice she menaced high,
And every accent twanged with smarting sorrow;
But what's all this to thee? thou, coward, yet
Art living, canst not, wilt not find the road
To the great palace of magnificent Death;
Though thousand ways lead to his thousand doors,
Which, day and night, are still unbarred for all. [Clashing of Swords. Drums and Trumpets without.
Hark! 'tis the noise of clashing swords! the sound
Comes near;—O, that a battle would come o'er me!
If I but grasp a sword, or wrest a dagger,
I'll make a ruin with the first that falls.

Enter Hæmon, with Guards.

Hæm. Seize him, and bear him to the western tower.—
216 Pardon me, sacred sir; I am informed
That Creon has designs upon your life:
Forgive me, then, if, to preserve you from him,
I order your confinement.

Œdip. Slaves, unhand me!—
I think thou hast a sword;—'twas the wrong side.
Yet, cruel Hæmon, think not I will live;
He, that could tear his eyes out, sure can find
Some desperate way to stifle this cursed breath:
Or if I starve!—but that's a lingering fate;
Or if I leave my brains upon the wall!—
The airy soul can easily o'er-shoot
Those bounds, with which thou striv'st to pale her in.
Yes, I will perish in despite of thee;
And, by the rage that stirs me, if I meet thee
In the other world, I'll curse thee for this usage.[Exit.

Hæm. Tiresias, after him, and with your counsel,
Advise him humbly: charm, if possible,
These feuds within; while I without extinguish,
Or perish in the attempt, the furious Creon;
That brand which sets our city in a flame.

Tir. Heaven prosper your intent, and give a period
To all our plagues. What old Tiresias can,
Shall straight be done.—Lead, Manto, to the tower. [Exeunt Tiresias and Manto.

Hæm. Follow me all, and help to part this fray, [Trumpets again.
Or fall together in the bloody broil.[Exeunt.

Enter Creon with Eurydice; Pyracmon, and his party, giving Ground to Adrastus.

Cre. Hold, hold your arms, Adrastus, prince of Argos!
Hear, and behold; Eurydice is my prisoner.

Adr. What would'st thou, hell-hound?

Cre. See this brandished dagger;
Forego the advantage which thy arms have won.
217 Or, by the blood which trembles through the heart
Of her, whom more than life I know thou lovest,
I'll bury to the haft, in her fair breast,
This instrument of my revenge.

Adr. Stay thee, damned wretch; hold, stop thy bloody hand!

Cre. Give order, then, that on this instant, now,
This moment, all thy soldiers straight disband.

Adr. Away, my friends, since fate has so allotted;
Begone, and leave me to the villain's mercy.

Eur. Ah, my Adrastus! call them, call them back!
Stand there; come back! O, cruel barbarous men!
Could you then leave your lord, your prince, your king,
After so bravely having fought his cause,
To perish by the hand of this base villain?
Why rather rush you not at once together
All to his ruin? drag him through the streets,
Hang his contagious quarters on the gates;
Nor let my death affright you.

Cre. Die first thyself, then.

Adr. O, I charge thee hold!—
Hence from my presence, all; he's not my friend
That disobeys.—See, art thou now appeased?[Exeunt Attendants.
Or is there aught else yet remains to do,
That can atone thee? slake thy thirst of blood
With mine; but save, O save that innocent wretch!

Cre. Forego thy sword, and yield thyself my prisoner.

Eur. Yet, while there's any dawn of hope to save
Thy precious life, my dear Adrastus,
Whate'er thou dost, deliver not thy sword;
With that thou may'st get off, tho' odds oppose thee.
For me, O fear not; no, he dares not touch me;
His horrid love will spare me. Keep thy sword;
Lest I be ravished after thou art slain.

Adr. Instruct me, gods, what shall Adrastus do?

218 Cre. Do what thou wilt, when she is dead; my soldiers
With numbers will o'erpower thee. Is't thy wish
Eurydice should fall before thee?

Adr. Traitor, no;
Better that thou, and I, and all mankind,
Should be no more.

Cre. Then cast thy sword away,
And yield thee to my mercy, or I strike.

Adr. Hold thy raised arm; give me a moment's pause.
My father, when he blest me, gave me this:
My son, said he, let this be thy last refuge;
If thou forego'st it, misery attends thee.—
Yet love now charms it from me; which in all
The hazards of my life I never lost.
'Tis thine, my faithful sword; my only trust;
Though my heart tells me that the gift is fatal.[Gives it.

Cre. Fatal! yes, foolish love-sick prince, it shall:
Thy arrogance, thy scorn, my wound's remembrance.
Turn all at once the fatal point upon thee.—
Pyracmon to the palace; dispatch
The king; hang Hæmon up, for he is loyal,
And will oppose me.—Come, sir, are you ready?

Adr. Yes, villain, for whatever thou canst dare.

Eur. Hold, Creon, or through me, through me you wound.

Adr. Off, madam, or we perish both; behold
I'm not unarmed, my poniard's in my hand;
Therefore, away.

Eur. I'll guard your life with mine.

Cre. Die both, then; there is now no time for dallying. [Kills Eurydice.

Eur. Ah, prince, farewell! farewell, my dear Adrastus! [Dies.

219 Adr. Unheard-of monster! eldest-born of hell!
Down, to thy primitive flame.[Stabs Creon.

Cre. Help, soldiers, help;
Revenge me.

Adr. More; yet more; a thousand wounds!
I'll stamp thee still, thus, to the gaping furies. [Adrastus falls, killed by the soldiers.

Enter Hæmon, Guards, with Alcander and Pyracmon bound; the Assassins are driven off.

O Hæmon, I am slain; nor need I name
The inhuman author of all villainies;
There he lies gasping.

Cre. If I must plunge in flames,
Burn first my arm; base instrument, unfit
To act the dictates of my daring mind;
Burn, burn for ever, O weak substitute
Of that, the god, ambition.[Dies.

Adr. She's gone;—O deadly marksman, in the heart!
Yet in the pangs of death she grasps my hand;
Her lips too tremble, as if she would speak
Her last farewell.—O, Œdipus, thy fall
Is great; and nobly now thou goest attended!
They talk of heroes, and celestial beauties,
And wondrous pleasures in the other world;
Let me but find her there, I ask no more.[Dies.

Enter a Captain to Hæmon; with Teresias and Manto.

Cap. O, sir, the queen Jocasta, swift and wild,
As a robbed tygress bounding o'er the woods,
Has acted murders that amaze mankind;
In twisted gold I saw her daughters hang
On the bed-royal, and her little sons
Stabbed through the breasts upon the bloody pillows.

Hæm. Relentless heavens! is then the fate of Laius
Never to be atoned? How sacred ought
220 Kings' lives be held, when but the death of one
Demands an empire's blood for expiation!
But see! the furious mad Jocasta's here.

Scene draws, and discovers Jocasta held by her women and stabbed in many places of her Bosom, her Hair dishevelled, her Children slain upon the Bed.

Was ever yet a sight of so much horror
And pity brought to view!

Joc. Ah, cruel women!
Will you not let me take my last farewell
Of those dear babes? O let me run, and seal
My melting soul upon their bubbling wounds!
I'll print upon their coral mouths such kisses,
As shall recal their wandering spirits home.
Let me go, let me go, or I will tear you piece-meal.
Help, Hæmon, help;
Help, Œdipus; help, Gods; Jocasta dies.

Enter Œdipus above.

Œdip. I've found a window, and I thank the gods
'Tis quite unbarred; sure, by the distant noise,
The height will fit my fatal purpose well.

Joc. What hoa, my Œdipus! see where he stands!
His groping ghost is lodged upon a tower,
Nor can it find the road. Mount, mount, my soul;
I'll wrap thy shivering spirit in lambent flames; and so we'll sail.—
But see! we're landed on the happy coast;
And all the golden strands are covered o'er
With glorious gods, that come to try our cause.
Jove, Jove, whose majesty now sinks me down,
He, who himself burns in unlawful fires,
Shall judge, and shall acquit us. O, 'tis done;
'Tis fixt by fate, upon record divine;
And Œdipus shall now be ever mine.[Dies.

221 Œdip. Speak, Hæmon; what has fate been doing there?
What dreadful deed has mad Jocasta done?

Hæm. The queen herself, and all your wretched offspring,
Are by her fury slain.

Œdip. By all my woes,
She has outdone me in revenge and murder,
And I should envy her the sad applause:
But oh, my children! oh, what have they done?
This was not like the mercy of the heavens,
To set her madness on such cruelty:
This stirs me more than all my sufferings,
And with my last breath I must call you tyrants.

Hæm. What mean you, sir?

Œdip. Jocasta! lo, I come.
O Laius, Labdacus, and all you spirits
Of the Cadmean race, prepare to meet me,
All weeping ranged along the gloomy shore;
Extend your arms to embrace me, for I come.
May all the gods, too, from their battlements,
Behold and wonder at a mortal's daring;
And, when I knock the goal of dreadful death,
Shout and applaud me with a clap of thunder.
Once more, thus winged by horrid fate, I come,
Swift as a falling meteor; lo, I fly,
And thus go downwards to the darker sky. [Thunder. He flings himself from the Window: The Thebans gather about his Body.

Hæm. O prophet, Œdipus is now no more!
O cursed effect of the most deep despair!

Tir. Cease your complaints, and bear his body hence;
The dreadful sight will daunt the drooping Thebans,
Whom heaven decrees to raise with peace and glory.
Yet, by these terrible examples warned,
The sacred Fury thus alarms the world:—
Let none, though ne'er so virtuous, great, and high,
Be judged entirely blest before they die.[Exeunt.

Footnotes:

1. Imitated from the commencement of the plague in the first book of the Iliad.
2. The story of the Sphinx is generally known: She was a monster, who delighted in putting a riddle to the Thebans, and slaying each poor dull Bœotian, who could not interpret it. Œdipus guessed the enigma, on which the monster destroyed herself for shame. Thus he attained the throne of Thebes, and the bed of Jocasta.
3. To dare a lark, is to fly a hawk, or present some other object of fear, to engage the bird's attention, and prevent it from taking wing, while the fowler draws his net:
   
4. Farewell, nobility; let his grace go forward,
5. And dare us with his cap, like larks.
6. Henry VIII. Act III. Scene II.
7. The carelessness of Œdipus about the fate of his predecessor is very unnatural; but to such expedients dramatists are often reduced, to communicate to their audience what must have been known to the persons of the drama.
8. Start is here, and in p. 136, used for started, being borrowed from sterte, the old perfect of the verb.
9. It is a common idea, that falling stars, as they are called, are converted into a sort of jelly. "Among the rest, I had often the opportunity to see the seeming shooting of the stars from place to place, and sometimes they appeared as if falling to the ground, where I once or twice found a white jelly-like matter among the grass, which I imagined to be distilled from them; and hence foolishly conjectured, that the stars themselves must certainly consist of a like substance."
10. Serpens, serpentem vorans, fit draco. Peccata, peccatis superaddita, monstra fiunt. Hieroglyphica animalium, per Archibaldum Simsonum Dalkethensis Ecclesiæ pastorem, p. 95.
11. The idea of this sacred grove seems to be taken from that of Colonus near Athens, dedicated to the Eumenides, which gives name to Sophocles's second tragedy. Seneca describes the scene of the incantation in the following lines:
    
12. Est procul ab urbe lucus illicibus niger
13. Dircæa circa vallis irriguæ loca.
14. Cupressus altis exerens silvis caput
15. Virente semper alligat trunco nemus;
16. Curvosque tendit quercus et putres situ
17. Annosa ramos: hujus abrupit latus
18. Edax vetustas: illa jam fessa cadens
19. Radice, fulta pendet aliena trabe.
20. Amara baccas laurus; et tiliæ leves
21. Et Paphia myrtus; et per immensum mare
22. Motura remos alnus; et Phœbo obvia
23. Enode Zephyris pinus opponens latus.
24. Medio stat ingens arbor, atque umbra gravi
25. Silvas minores urget; et magno ambitu
26. Diffusa ramos, una defendit nemus.
27. Tristis sub illa, lucis et Phœbi inscius
28. Restagnat humor, frigore æterno rigens.
29. Limosa pigrum circuit fontem palus.
30. Actus Tertius. Scena prima.
31. This diffuse account of the different kinds of forest trees, which composed the enchanted grove, is very inartificially put into the mouth of Creon, who, notwithstanding the horrible message which he has to deliver to Œdipus from the ghost, finds time to solace the king with this long description of a place, which he doubtless knew as well as Creon himself. Dryden, on the contrary, has, with great address, rendered the description necessary, by the violence committed within the sacred precinct, and turned it, not upon minute and rhetorical detail, but upon the general awful properties of this consecrated ground. Lucan's fine description of the Massyllian forest, and that of the enchanted grove in Tasso, have been both consulted by our author.
32. The quarrel betwixt Œdipus and the prophet, who announces his guilt, is imitated from a similar scene in the Œdipus Tyrannus.
33. Borrowed from Shakespeare;
    
34. And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change.
35. Richard II.

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