Thou art my son; thy shame confesseth it.1010
And yet, O son, though all unwilling, speak.
Why dost thou turn away thy sightless face?
Oedipus: Who now forbids me to enjoy my night?
Who gives me back mine eyes? My mother's voice!
Oh, awful sound! Now is my labor vain.
Stay where thou art! Each step is impious.
Let boundless seas our guilty souls divide,1015
And lands remote; and if beneath this land
Some other hangs, beholding other stars,