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.