For I grow cold.
Phor. The Queen, Jocasta told me
It was her son by Laius.
Œd. O you gods—break, break not yet my heart,
Though my eyes burst, no matter, wilt thou tell me,
Or must I ask for ever? For what end?
Why gave she thee her child?
Phor. To murder it.
Œd. O more than savage! murder her own bowels
Without a cause.