May that far country one of us receive.
Jocasta: What thou deplorest is the fault of fate.
A fated crime can leave no stain of sin.
Oedipus: Now cease thy words, O mother, spare my ears,1020
By these poor remnants of my mangled form,
By that unhallowed offspring of my blood,
And all that in the double names we bear
Is right and wrong!
Jocasta [to herself]: Why art thou listless now,
O soul of mine? Since thou hast shared his guilt,