OEDIPUS.
Out on it, lady! why should one regard
The Pythian hearth or birds that scream i’ the air?
Did they not point at me as doomed to slay
My father? but he’s dead and in his grave
And here am I who ne’er unsheathed a sword;
Unless the longing for his absent son
Killed him and so I slew him in a sense.
But, as they stand, the oracles are dead—
Dust, ashes, nothing, dead as Polybus.
JOCASTA.
Say, did not I foretell this long ago?
OEDIPUS.
Thou didst: but I was misled by my fear.
JOCASTA.
Then let I no more weigh upon thy soul.
OEDIPUS.
Must I not fear my mother’s marriage bed.
JOCASTA.
Why should a mortal man, the sport of chance,
With no assured foreknowledge, be afraid?
Best live a careless life from hand to mouth.
This wedlock with thy mother fear not thou.
How oft it chances that in dreams a man
Has wed his mother! He who least regards
Such brainsick phantasies lives most at ease.
OEDIPUS.
I should have shared in full thy confidence,
Were not my mother living; since she lives
Though half convinced I still must live in dread.
JOCASTA.
And yet thy sire’s death lights out darkness much.
OEDIPUS.
Much, but my fear is touching her who lives.
MESSENGER.
Who may this woman be whom thus you fear?