Œd. Speak, then.
Phor. Alas! what would you have me say?
Œd. Did this old man take from your arms an infant?
Phor. He did, and oh! I wish to all the gods,
Phorbas had perished in that very moment.
Œd. Moment! thou shalt be hours, days, years undying,
Here, bind his hands, he dallies with my fury,
But I shall find a way—
Phor. By the gods,
I do conjure you to enquire no more.