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.