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.