MESSENGER.
All happiness attend her and the house,
Blessed is her husband and her marriage-bed.
JOCASTA.
My greetings to thee, stranger; thy fair words
Deserve a like response. But tell me why
Thou comest—what thy need or what thy news.
MESSENGER.
Good for thy consort and the royal house.
JOCASTA.
What may it be? Whose messenger art thou?
MESSENGER.
The Isthmian commons have resolved to make
Thy husband king—so ’twas reported there.
JOCASTA.
What! is not aged Polybus still king?
MESSENGER.
No, verily; he’s dead and in his grave.
JOCASTA.
What! is he dead, the sire of Oedipus?
MESSENGER.
If I speak falsely, may I die myself.
JOCASTA.
Quick, maiden, bear these tidings to my lord.
Ye god-sent oracles, where stand ye now!
This is the man whom Oedipus long shunned,
In dread to prove his murderer; and now
He dies in nature’s course, not by his hand.
[Enter OEDIPUS.]