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.