OEDIPUS.
Art come, my child?
ISMENE.
O father, sad thy plight!
OEDIPUS.
Child, thou art here?
ISMENE.
Yes, ’twas a weary way.
OEDIPUS.
Touch me, my child.
ISMENE.
I give a hand to both.
OEDIPUS.
O children—sisters!
ISMENE.
O disastrous plight!
OEDIPUS.
Her plight and mine?
ISMENE.
Aye, and my own no less.