The OEdipe of Corneille is in all respects unworthy of its great author. The poet considering, as he states in his introduction, that the subject of OEdipus tearing out his eyes was too horrible to be presented before ladies, qualifies its terrors by the introduction of a love intrigue betwixt Theseus and Dirce. The unhappy propensity of the French poets to introduce long discussions upon la belle passion, addressed merely to the understanding, without respect to feeling or propriety, is nowhere more ridiculously displayed than in "OEdipe." The play opens with the following polite speech of Theseus to Dirce:

N'ecoutez plus, madame, une pitie cruelle, Qui d'un fidel amant vous ferait un rebelle: La gloire d'obeir n'a rien que me soit doux, Lorsque vous m'ordonnez de m'eloigner de vous. Quelque ravage affreux qu'etale ici la peste, L'absence aux vrais amans est encore plus funeste; Et d'un si grand peril l'image s'offre en vain, Quand ce peril douteux epargne un mal certain. Act premiere, Scene premiere.

It is hardly possible more prettily to jingle upon the peril douteux, and the mal certain; but this is rather an awkward way of introducing the account of the pestilence, with which all the other dramatists have opened their scene. OEdipus, however, is at once sensible of the cause which detained Theseus at his melancholy court, amidst the horrors of the plague:

Je l'avais bien juge qu' un interet d'amour Fermait ici vos yeux aux perils de ma cour.

OEdipo conjectere opus est—it would have been difficult for any other person to have divined such a motive. The conduct of the drama is exactly suitable to its commencement; the fate of OEdipus and of Thebes, the ravages of the pestilence, and the avenging of the death of Laius, are all secondary and subordinate considerations to the loves of Theseus and Dirce, as flat and uninteresting a pair as ever spoke platitudes in French hexameters. So much is this the engrossing subject of the drama, that OEdipus, at the very moment when Tiresias is supposed to be engaged in raising the ghost of Laius, occupies himself in a long scene of scolding about love and duty with Dirce; and it is not till he is almost bullied by her off the stage, that he suddenly recollects, as an apology for his retreat,

Mais il faut aller voir ce qu'a fait Tiresias.

Considering, however, the declamatory nature of the French dialogue, and the peremptory rule of their drama, that love, or rather gallantry, must be the moving principle of every performance, it is more astonishing that Corneille should have chosen so masculine and agitating a subject, than that he should have failed in treating it with propriety or success.

In the following tragedy, Dryden has avowedly adopted the Greek model; qualified, however, by the under plot of Adrastus and Eurydice, which contributes little either to the effect or merit of the play. Creon, in his ambition and his deformity, is a poor copy of Richard III., without his abilities; his plots and treasons are baffled by the single appearance of OEdipus; and as for the loves and woes of Eurydice, and the prince of Argos, they are lost in the horrors of the principal story, like the moonlight amid the glare of a conflagration. In other respects, the conduct of the piece closely follows the "OEdipus Tyrannus," and, in some respects, even improves on that excellent model. The Tiresias of Sophocles, for example, upon his first introduction, denounces OEdipus as the slayer of Laius, braves his resentment, and prophesies his miserable catastrophe. In Dryden's play, the first anathema of the prophet is levelled only against the unknown murderer; and it is not till the powers of hell have been invoked, that even the eye of the prophet can penetrate the horrible veil, and fix the guilt decisively upon OEdipus. By this means, the striking quarrel betwixt the monarch and Tiresias is, with great art, postponed to the third act; and the interest, of course, is more gradually heightened than in the Grecian tragedy.

The first and third acts, which were wholly written by Dryden, maintain a decided superiority over the rest of the piece. Yet there are many excellent passages scattered through Lee's scenes; and as the whole was probably corrected by Dryden, the tragedy has the appearance of general consistence and uniformity. There are several scenes, in which Dryden seems to have indulged his newly adopted desire of imitating the stile of Shakespeare. Such are, in particular, the scene of OEdipus walking in his sleep, which bears marks of Dryden's pen; and such, also, is the incantation in the third act. Seneca and Corneille have thrown this last scene into narrative. Yet, by the present large size of our stages, and the complete management of light and shade, the incantation might be represented with striking effect; an advantage which, I fear, has been gained by the sacrifice of others, much more essential to the drama, considered as a dignified and rational amusement. The incantation itself is nobly written, and the ghost of Laius can only be paralleled in Shakespeare.

The language of OEdipus is, in general, nervous, pure, and elegant; and the dialogue, though in so high a tone of passion, is natural and affecting. Some of Lee's extravagancies are lamentable exceptions to this observation. This may be instanced in the passage, where Jocasta threatens to fire Olympus, destroy the heavenly furniture, and smoke the deities like bees out of their ambrosial hives; and such is the still more noted wish of OEdipus;

Through all the inmost chambers of the sky, May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark, But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark!

These blemishes, however, are entitled to some indulgence from the reader, when they occur in a work of real genius. Those, who do not strive at excellence, will seldom fall into absurdity; as he, who is contented to walk, is little liable to stumble.

Notwithstanding the admirable disposition of the parts of this play, the gradual increase of the interest, and the strong impassioned language of the dialogue, the disagreeable nature of the plot forms an objection to its success upon a British stage. Distress, which turns upon the involutions of unnatural or incestuous passion, carries with it something too disgusting for the sympathy of a refined age; whereas, in a simple state of society, the feelings require a more powerful stimulus; as we see the vulgar crowd round an object of real horror, with the same pleasure we reap from seeing it represented on a theatre. Besides, in ancient times, in those of the Roman empire at least, such abominations really occurred, as sanctioned the story of OEdipus. But the change of manners has introduced not only greater purity of moral feeling, but a sensibility, which retreats with abhorrence even from a fiction turning upon such circumstances. Hence, Garrick, who well knew the taste of an English audience, renounced his intention of reviving the excellent old play of "King and no King;" and hence Massinger's still more awful tragedy of "The Unnatural Combat," has been justly deemed unfit for a modern stage. Independent of this disgusting circumstance, it may be questioned Whether the horror of this tragedy is not too powerful for furnishing mere amusement? It is said in the "Companion to the Playhouse," that when the piece was performing at Dublin, a musician, in the orchestra, was so powerfully affected by the madness of OEdipus, as to become himself actually delirious: and though this may be exaggerated, it is certain, that, when the play was revived about thirty years ago, the audience were unable to support it to an end; the boxes being all emptied before the third act was concluded. Among all our English plays, there is none more determinedly bloody than "OEdipus," in its progress and conclusion. The entrance of the unfortunate king, with his eyes torn from their sockets, is too disgusting for representation[3]. Of all the persons of the drama, scarce one survives the fifth act. OEdipus dashes out his brains, Jocasta stabs herself, their children are strangled, Creon kills Eurydice, Adrastus kills Creon, and the insurgents kill Adrastus; when we add to this, that the conspirators are hanged, the reader will perceive, that the play, which began with a pestilence, concludes with a massacre,

And darkness is the burier of the dead.

Another objection to OEdipus has been derived from the doctrine of fatalism, inculcated by the story. There is something of cant in talking much upon the influence of a theatre on public morals; yet, I fear, though the most moral plays are incapable of doing much good, the turn of others may make a mischievous impression, by embodying in verse, and rendering apt for the memory, maxims of an impious or profligate tendency. In this point of view, there is, at least, no edification in beholding the horrible crimes unto which OEdipus is unwillingly plunged, and in witnessing the dreadful punishment he sustains, though innocent of all moral or intentional guilt, Corneille has endeavoured to counterbalance the obvious conclusion, by a long tirade upon free-will, which I have subjoined, as it contains some striking ideas.[4] But the doctrine, which it expresses, is contradictory of the whole tenor of the story; and the correct deduction is much more justly summed up by Seneca, in the stoical maxim of necessity:

Fatis agimur, cedite Fatis; Non solicitae possunt curae, Mutare rati stamina fusi; Quicquid patimur mortale genus, Quicquid facimus venit ex alto; Servatque sua decreta colus, Lachesis dura revoluta manu.

Some degree of poetical justice might have been preserved, and a valuable moral inculcated, had the conduct of OEdipus, in his combat with Laius, been represented as atrocious, or, at least, unwarrantable; as the sequel would then have been a warning, how impossible it is to calculate the consequences or extent of a single act of guilt. But, after all, Dryden perhaps extracts the true moral, while stating our insufficiency to estimate the distribution of good and evil in human life, in a passage, which, in excellent poetry, expresses more sound truth, than a whole shelf of philosophers:

The Gods are just— But how can finite measure infinite? Reason! alas, it does not know itself! Yet man, vain man, would, with this, short-lined plummet, Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. Whatever is, is in its causes just, Since all things are by fate. But purblind man Sees but a part o'the chain; the nearest links; His eyes not carrying to that equal beam, That poises all above.—

The prologue states, that the play, if damned, may be recorded as the "first buried since the Woollen Act." This enables us to fix the date of the performance. By the 30th Charles II. cap. 3. all persons were appointed to be buried in woollen after 1st August, 1678. The play must therefore have been represented early in the season 1678-9. It was not printed until 1679.

Footnotes: 1. Nero is said to have represented the character of OEdipus, amongst others of the same horrible cast.—Suetonius, Lib. VI. Cap. 21.

2. Thus Seneca is justly ridiculed by Dacier, for sending Laius forth with a numerous party of guards, to avoid the indecorum of a king going abroad too slenderly attended. The guards lose their way within a league of their master's capital; and, by this awkward contrivance, their absence is accounted for, when he is met by OEdipus.

3. Voltaire, however, held a different opinion. He thought a powerful effect might be produced by the exhibition of the blind king, indistinctly seen in the back ground, amid the shrieks of Jocasta, and the exclamations of the Thebans; provided the actor was capable of powerful gesture, and of expressing much passion, with little declamation.

4. Quoi! la necessite des vertus et des vices D'un astre imperieux doit suivre les caprices? Et Delphes malgre nous conduit nos actions Au plus bizarre effet de ses predictions? L'ame est donc toute esclave; une loi soveraine Vers le bien ou le mal incessamment l'entraine; Et nous recevons ni crainte ni desir, De cette liberte qui n'a rien a choisir; Attaches sans relache a cet ordre sublime, Vertueux sans merite, et vicieux sans crime; Qu'on massare les rois, qu'on brise les autels, C'est la faute des dieux, et non pas des mortels; De toute la vertu sur la terre epandue Tout le prix ces dieux, toute la gloire est due; Ils agissent en nous, quand nous pensons agir, Alons qu'on delibere, on ne fait qu'obeir; Et notre volonte n'aime, hait, cherche, evite, Que suivant que d'en haut leur bras la precipite! D'un tel aveuglement daignez me dispenser Le ciel juste a punir, juste a recompenser, Pour rendre aux actions leur peine ou leur salaire, Doit nous offrir son aide et puis nous laisser faire.



PREFACE.

Though it be dangerous to raise too great an expectation, especially in works of this nature, where we are to please an insatiable audience, yet it is reasonable to prepossess them in favour of an author; and therefore, both the prologue and epilogue informed you, that OEdipus was the most celebrated piece of all antiquity; that Sophocles, not only the greatest wit, but one of the greatest men in Athens, made it for the stage at the public cost; and that it had the reputation of being his masterpiece, not only among the seven of his which are still remaining, but of the greater number which are perished. Aristotle has more than once admired it, in his Book of Poetry; Horace has mentioned it: Lucullus, Julius Caesar, and other noble Romans, have written on the same subject, though their poems are wholly lost; but Seneca's is still preserved. In our own age, Corneille has attempted it, and, it appears by his preface, with great success. But a judicious reader will easily observe, how much the copy is inferior to the original. He tells you himself, that he owes a great part of his success, to the happy episode of Theseus and Dirce; which is the same thing, as if we should acknowledge, that we were indebted for our good fortune to the under-plot of Adrastus, Eurydice, and Creon. The truth is, he miserably failed in the character of his hero: If he desired that OEdipus should be pitied, he should have made him a better man. He forgot, that Sophocles had taken care to show him, in his first entrance, a just, a merciful, a successful, a religious prince, and, in short, a father of his country. Instead of these, he has drawn him suspicious, designing, more anxious of keeping the Theban crown, than solicitous for the safety of his people; hectored by Theseus, condemned by Dirce, and scarce maintaining a second part in his own tragedy. This was an error in the first concoction; and therefore never to be mended in the second or the third. He introduced a greater hero than OEdipus himself; for when Theseus was once there, that companion of Hercules must yield to none. The poet was obliged to furnish him with business, to make him an equipage suitable to his dignity; and, by following him too close, to lose his other king of Brentford in the crowd. Seneca, on the other side, as if there were no such thing as nature to be minded in a play, is always running after pompous expression, pointed sentences, and philosophical notions, more proper for the study than the stage: the Frenchman followed a wrong scent; and the Roman was absolutely at cold hunting. All we could gather out of Corneille was, that an episode must be, but not his way: and Seneca supplied us with no new hint, but only a relation which he makes of his Tiresias raising the ghost of Laius; which is here performed in view of the audience,—the rites and ceremonies, so far his, as he agreed with antiquity, and the religion of the Greeks. But he himself was beholden to Homer's Tiresias, in the "Odysses," for some of them; and the rest have been collected from Heliodore's "Ethiopiques," and Lucan's Erictho[1]. Sophocles, indeed, is admirable everywhere; and therefore we have followed him as close as possibly we could. But the Athenian theatre, (whether more perfect than ours, is not now disputed,) had a perfection differing from ours. You see there in every act a single scene, (or two at most,) which manage the business of the play; and after that succeeds the chorus, which commonly takes up more time in singing, than there has been employed in speaking. The principal person appears almost constantly through the play; but the inferior parts seldom above once in the whole tragedy. The conduct of our stage is much more difficult, where we are obliged never to lose any considerable character, which we have once presented. Custom likewise has obtained, that we must form an under-plot of second persons, which must be depending on the first; and their by-walks must be like those in a labyrinth, which all of them lead into the great parterre; or like so many several lodging chambers, which have their outlets into the same gallery. Perhaps, after all, if we could think so, the ancient method, as it is the easiest, is also the most natural, and the best. For variety, as it is managed, is too often subject to breed distraction; and while we would please too many ways, for want of art in the conduct, we please in none[2]. But we have given you more already than was necessary for a preface; and, for aught we know, may gain no more by our instructions, than that politic nation is like to do, who have taught their enemies to fight so long, that at last they are in a condition to invade them[3].

Footnotes: 1. Heliodorus, bishop of Trica, wrote a romance in Greek, called the "Ethiopiques," containing the amours of Theagenes and Chariclea. He was so fond of this production, that, the option being proposed to him by a synod, he rather chose to resign his bishopric than destroy his work. There occurs a scene of incantation in this romance. The story of Lucan's witch occurs in the sixth book of the Pharsalia.

Dryden has judiciously imitated Seneca, in representing necromancy as the last resort of Tiresias, after all milder modes of augury had failed.

2. It had been much to be wished, that our author had preferred his own better judgment, and the simplicity of the Greek plot, to compliance with this foolish custom.

3. This seems to allude to the French, who, after having repeatedly reduced the Dutch to extremity, were about this period defeated by the Prince of Orange, in the battle of Mons. See the next note.



PROLOGUE.

When Athens all the Grecian slate did guide, And Greece gave laws to all the world beside; Then Sophocles with Socrates did sit, Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit: And wit from wisdom differed not in those, But as 'twas sung in verse, or said in prose. Then, OEdipus, on crowded theatres, Drew all admiring eyes and list'ning ears: The pleased spectator shouted every line, The noblest, manliest, and the best design! And every critic of each learned age, By this just model has reformed the stage. Now, should it fail, (as heaven avert our fear!) Damn it in silence, lest the world should hear. For were it known this poem did not please, You might set up for perfect savages: Your neighbours would not look on you as men, But think the nation all turned Picts again. Faith, as you manage matters, 'tis not fit You should suspect yourselves of too much wit: Drive not the jest too far, but spare this piece; And, for this once, be not more wise than Greece. See twice! do not pell-mell to damning fall, Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all: Pray be advised; and though at Mons[1] you won, On pointed cannon do not always run. With some respect to ancient wit proceed; You take the four first councils for your creed. But, when you lay tradition wholly by, And on the private spirit alone rely, You turn fanatics in your poetry. If, notwithstanding all that we can say, You needs will have your penn'orths of the play, And come resolved to damn, because you pay, Record it, in memorial of the fact, The first play buried since the woollen act.

Footnote: 1. On the 17th of August, 1678, the Prince of Orange, afterwards William III. marched to the attack of the French army, which blockaded Mons, and lay secured by the most formidable entrenchments. Notwithstanding a powerful and well-served artillery, the duke of Luxemburgh was forced to abandon his trenches, and retire with great loss. The English and Scottish regiments, under the gallant earl of Ossory, had their full share in the glory of the day. It is strongly suspected, that the Prince of Orange, when he undertook this perilous atchievement, knew that a peace had been signed betwixt France and the States, though the intelligence was not made public till next day. Carleton says, that the troops, when drawn up for the attack, supposed the purpose was to fire a feu-de-joie for the conclusion of the war. The enterprize, therefore, though successful, was needless as well as desperate, and merited Dryden's oblique censure.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

OEDIPUS, King of Thebes. ADRASTUS, Prince of Argos. CREON, Brother to JOCASTA. TIRESIAS, a blind Prophet. HAEMON, Captain of the Guard. ALCANDER, } DIOCLES, } Lords of CREON'S faction. PYRACMON, } PHORBAS, an old Shepherd. DYMAS, the Messenger returned from Delphos. AEGEON, the Corinthian Embassador. Ghost of LAIUS, the late King of Thebes.

JOCASTA, Queen of Thebes. EURYDICE, her Daughter, by LAIUS, her first husband. MANTO, Daughter of TIRESIAS.

Priests, Citizens, Attendants, &c.

SCENE—Thebes.



OEDIPUS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—The Curtain rises to a plaintive Tune, representing the present condition of Thebes; dead Bodies appear at a distance in the Streets; some faintly go over the Stage, others drop.

Enter ALCANDER, DIOCLES, and PYRACMON.

Alc. Methinks we stand on ruins; nature shakes About us; and the universal frame So loose, that it but wants another push, To leap from off its hinges.

Dioc. No sun to cheer us; but a bloody globe, That rolls above, a bald and beamless fire, His face o'er-grown with scurf: The sun's sick, too; Shortly he'll be an earth.

Pyr. Therefore the seasons Lie all confused; and, by the heavens neglected, Forget themselves: Blind winter meets the summer In his mid-way, and, seeing not his livery, Has driven him headlong back; and the raw damps, With flaggy wings, fly heavily about, Scattering their pestilential colds and rheums Through all the lazy air.

Alc. Hence murrains followed On bleating flocks, and on the lowing herds: At last, the malady Grew more domestic, and the faithful dog Died at his master's feet[1].

Dioc. And next, his master: For all those plagues, which earth and air had brooded, First on inferior creatures tried their force, And last they seized on man.

Pyr. And then a thousand deaths at once advanced, And every dart took place; all was so sudden, That scarce a first man fell; one but began To wonder, and straight fell a wonder too; A third, who stooped to raise his dying friend, Dropt in the pious act.—Heard you that groan? [Groan within.

Dioc. A troop of ghosts took flight together there. Now death's grown riotous, and will play no more For single stakes, but families and tribes. How are we sure we breathe not now our last, And that, next minute, Our bodies, cast into some common pit, Shall not be built upon, and overlaid By half a people?

Alc. There's a chain of causes Linked to effects; invincible necessity, That whate'er is, could not but so have been; That's my security.

To them, enter CREON.

Cre. So had it need, when all our streets lie covered With dead and dying men; And earth exposes bodies on the pavements, More than she hides in graves. Betwixt the bride and bridegroom have I seen The nuptial torch do common offices Of marriage and of death.

Dioc. Now OEdipus (If he return from war, our other plague) Will scarce find half he left, to grace his triumphs.

Pyr. A feeble paean will be sung before him.

Alc. He would do well to bring the wives and children Of conquered Argians, to renew his Thebes.

Cre. May funerals meet him at the city gates, With their detested omen!

Dioc. Of his children.

Cre. Nay, though she be my sister, of his wife.

Alc. O that our Thebes might once again behold A monarch, Theban born!

Dioc. We might have had one.

Pyr. Yes, had the people pleased.

Cre. Come, you are my friends: The queen my sister, after Laius' death, Feared to lie single; and supplied his place With a young successor.

Dioc. He much resembles Her former husband too.

Alc. I always thought so.

Pyr. When twenty winters more have grizzled his black locks, He will be very Laius.

Cre. So he will. Meantime, she stands provided of a Laius, More young, and vigorous too, by twenty springs. These women are such cunning purveyors! Mark, where their appetites have once been pleased, The same resemblance, in a younger lover, Lies brooding in their fancies the same pleasures, And urges their remembrance to desire.

Dioc. Had merit, not her dotage, been considered; Then Creon had been king; but OEdipus, A stranger!

Cre. That word, stranger, I confess, Sounds harshly in my ears.

Dioc. We are your creatures. The people, prone, as in all general ills, To sudden change; the king, in wars abroad; The queen, a woman weak and unregarded; Eurydice, the daughter of dead Laius, A princess young and beauteous, and unmarried,— Methinks, from these disjointed propositions, Something might be produced.

Cre. The gods have done Their part, by sending this commodious plague. But oh, the princess! her hard heart is shut By adamantine locks against my love.

Alc. Your claim to her is strong; you are betrothed.

Pyr. True, in her nonage.

Dioc. I heard the prince of Argos, young Adrastus, When he was hostage here—

Cre. Oh name him not! the bane of all my hopes. That hot-brained, head-long warrior, has the charms Of youth, and somewhat of a lucky rashness, To please a woman yet more fool than he. That thoughtless sex is caught by outward form. And empty noise, and loves itself in man.

Alc. But since the war broke out about our frontiers, He's now a foe to Thebes.

Cre. But is not so to her. See, she appears; Once more I'll prove my fortune. You insinuate Kind thoughts of me into the multitude; Lay load upon the court; gull them with freedom; And you shall see them toss their tails, and gad, As if the breeze had stung them.

Dioc. We'll about it. [Exeunt ALC. DIOC. and PYR.

Enter EURYDICE.

Cre. Hail, royal maid! thou bright Eurydice, A lavish planet reigned when thou wert born, And made thee of such kindred mould to heaven, Thou seem'st more heaven's than ours.

Eur. Cast round your eyes, Where late the streets were so thick sown with men, Like Cadmus' brood, they jostled for the passage; Now look for those erected heads, and see them, Like pebbles, paving all our public ways; When you have thought on this, then answer me,— If these be hours of courtship?

Cre. Yes, they are; For when the gods destroy so fast, 'tis time We should renew the race.

Eur. What, in the midst of horror?

Cre. Why not then? There's the more need of comfort.

Eur. Impious Creon!

Cre. Unjust Eurydice! can you accuse me Of love, which is heaven's precept, and not fear That vengeance, which you say pursues our crimes, Should reach your perjuries?

Eur. Still the old argument. I bade you cast your eyes on other men, Now cast them on yourself; think what you are.

Cre. A man.

Eur. A man!

Cre. Why, doubt you I'm a man?

Eur. 'Tis well you tell me so; I should mistake you For any other part o'the whole creation, Rather than think you man. Hence from my sight, Thou poison to my eyes!

Cre. 'Twas you first poisoned mine; and yet, methinks, My face and person should not make you sport.

Eur. You force me, by your importunities, To shew you what you are.

Cre. A prince, who loves you; And, since your pride provokes me, worth your love. Even at its highest value.

Eur. Love from thee! Why love renounced thee ere thou saw'st the light; Nature herself start back when thou wert born, And cried,—the work's not mine. The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw Thy mountain back, and thy distorted legs, Thy face itself; Half-minted with the royal stamp of man, And half o'ercome with beast, stood doubting long, Whose right in thee were more; And knew not, if to burn thee in the flames Were not the holier work.

Cre. Am I to blame, if nature threw my body In so perverse a mould? yet when she cast Her envious hand upon my supple joints, Unable to resist, and rumpled them On heaps in their dark lodging, to revenge Her bungled work, she stampt my mind more fair; And as from chaos, huddled and deformed, The god struck fire, and lighted up the lamps That beautify the sky, so he informed This ill-shaped body with a daring soul; And, making less than man, he made me more.

Eur. No; thou art all one error, soul and body; The first young trial of some unskilled power, Rude in the making art, and ape of Jove. Thy crooked mind within hunched out thy back, And wandered in thy limbs. To thy own kind Make love, if thou canst find it in the world; And seek not from our sex to raise an offspring, Which, mingled with the rest, would tempt the gods, To cut off human kind.

Cre. No; let them leave The Argian prince for you. That enemy Of Thebes has made you false, and break the vows You made to me.

Eur. They were my mother's vows, Made when I was at nurse.

Cre. But hear me, maid: This blot of nature, this deformed, loathed Creon, Is master of a sword, to reach the blood Of your young minion, spoil the gods' fine work, And stab you in his heart.

Eur. This when thou dost, Then mayst thou still be cursed with loving me; And, as thou art, be still unpitied, loathed; And let his ghost—No, let his ghost have rest— But let the greatest, fiercest, foulest fury, Let Creon haunt himself. [Exit EUR.

Cre. 'Tis true, I am What she has told me—an offence to sight: My body opens inward to my soul, And lets in day to make my vices seen By all discerning eyes, but the blind vulgar. I must make haste, ere OEdipus return, To snatch the crown and her—for I still love, But love with malice. As an angry cur Snarls while he feeds, so will I seize and stanch The hunger of my love on this proud beauty, And leave the scraps for slaves.

Enter TIRESIAS, leaning on a staff, and led by his Daughter MANTO.

What makes this blind prophetic fool abroad? Would his Apollo had him! he's too holy For earth and me; I'll shun his walk, and seek My popular friends. [Exit CREON.

Tir. A little farther; yet a little farther, Thou wretched daughter of a dark old man, Conduct my weary steps: And thou, who seest For me and for thyself, beware thou tread not, With impious steps, upon dead corps. Now stay; Methinks I draw more open, vital air. Where are we?

Man. Under covert of a wall; The most frequented once, and noisy part Of Thebes; now midnight silence reigns even here, And grass untrodden springs beneath our feet.

Tir. If there be nigh this place a sunny bank, There let me rest awhile:—A sunny bank! Alas! how can it be, where no sun shines, But a dim winking taper in the skies, That nods, and scarce holds up his drowzy head, To glimmer through the damps! [A Noise within. Follow, follow, follow! A Creon, A Creon, A Creon! Hark! a tumultuous noise, and Creon's name Thrice echoed.

Man. Fly, the tempest drives this way.

Tir. Whither can age and blindness take their flight? If I could fly, what could I suffer worse, Secure of greater ills? [Noise again, Creon, Creon, Creon!

Enter CREON, DIOCLES, ALCANDER, PYRACMON; followed by the Crowd.

Cre. I thank ye, countrymen; but must refuse The honours you intend me; they're too great, And I am too unworthy; think again, And make a better choice.

1 Cit. Think twice! I ne'er thought twice in all my life; That's double work.

2 Cit. My first word is always my second; and therefore I'll have no second word; and therefore, once again, I say, A Creon!

All. A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!

Cre. Yet hear me, fellow-citizens.

Dioc. Fellow-citizens! there was a word of kindness!

Alc. When did OEdipus salute you by that familiar name?

1 Cit. Never, never; he was too proud.

Cre. Indeed he could not, for he was a stranger; But under him our Thebes is half destroyed. Forbid it, heaven, the residue should perish Under a Theban born! 'Tis true, the gods might send this plague among you, Because a stranger ruled; but what of that? Can I redress it now?

3 Cit. Yes, you or none. 'Tis certain that the gods are angry with us, Because he reigns.

Cre. OEdipus may return; you may be ruined.

1 Cit. Nay, if that be the matter, we are ruined already.

2 Cit. Half of us, that are here present, were living men but yesterday; and we, that are absent, do but drop and drop, and no man knows whether he be dead or living. And therefore, while we are sound and well, let us satisfy our consciences, and make a new king.

3 Cit. Ha, if we were but worthy to see another coronation! and then, if we must die, we'll go merrily together.

All. To the question, to the question.

Dioc. Are you content, Creon should be your king?

All A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!

Tir. Hear me, ye Thebans, and thou Creon, hear me.

1 Cit. Who's that would be heard? we'll hear no man; we can scarce hear one another.

Tir. I charge you, by the gods, to hear me.

2 Cit. Oh, it is Apollo's priest, we must hear him; it is the old blind prophet, that sees all things.

3 Cit. He comes from the gods too, and they are our betters; and, in good manners, we must hear him:—Speak, prophet.

2 Cit. For coming from the gods, that's no great matter, they can all say that: but he is a great scholar; he can make almanacks, an' he were put to it; and therefore I say, hear him.

Tir. When angry heaven scatters its plagues among you, Is it for nought, ye Thebans? are the gods Unjust in punishing? are there no crimes, Which pull this vengeance down?

1 Cit. Yes, yes; no doubt there are some sins stirring, that are the cause of all.

3 Cit. Yes, there are sins, or we should have no taxes.

2 Cit. For my part, I can speak it with a safe conscience, I never sinned in all my life.

1 Cit. Nor I.

3 Cit. Nor I.

2 Cit. Then we are all justified; the sin lies not at our doors.

Tir. All justified alike, and yet all guilty! Were every man's false dealing brought to light, His envy, malice, lying, perjuries, His weights and measures, the other man's extortions, With what face could you tell offended heaven, You had not sinned?

2 Cit. Nay, if these be sins, the case is altered; for my part, I never thought any thing but murder had been a sin.

Tir. And yet, as if all these were less than nothing, You add rebellion to them, impious Thebans! Have you not sworn before the gods to serve And to obey this OEdipus, your king By public voice elected? answer me, If this be true!

2 Cit. This is true; but its a hard world, neighbours, If a man's oath must be his master.

Cre. Speak, Diocles; all goes wrong.

Dioc. How are you traitors, countrymen of Thebes? This holy sire, who presses you with oaths, Forgets your first; were you not sworn before To Laius and his blood?

All. We were; we were.

Dioc. While Laius has a lawful successor, Your first oath still must bind: Eurydice Is heir to Laius; let her marry Creon. Offended heaven will never be appeased, While OEdipus pollutes the throne of Laius, A stranger to his blood.

All. We'll no OEdipus, no OEdipus.

1 Cit. He puts the prophet in a mouse-hole.

2 Cit. I knew it would be so; the last man ever speaks the best reason.

Tir. Can benefits thus die, ungrateful Thebans! Remember yet, when, after Laius' death, The monster Sphinx laid your rich country waste, Your vineyards spoiled, your labouring oxen slew, Yourselves for fear mewed up within your walls; She, taller than your gates, o'er-looked your town; But when she raised her bulk to sail above you, She drove the air around her like a whirlwind, And shaded all beneath; till, stooping down, She clap'd her leathern wing against your towers, And thrust out her long neck, even to your doors[2].

Dioc. Alc. Pyr. We'll hear no more.

Tir. You durst not meet in temples, To invoke the gods for aid; the proudest he, Who leads you now, then cowered, like a dared[3] lark: This Creon shook for fear, The blood of Laius curdled in his veins, 'Till OEdipus arrived. Called by his own high courage and the gods, Himself to you a god, ye offered him Your queen and crown; (but what was then your crown!) And heaven authorized it by his success. Speak then, who is your lawful king?

All. 'Tis OEdipus.

Tir. 'Tis OEdipus indeed: Your king more lawful Than yet you dream; for something still there lies In heaven's dark volume, which I read through mists: 'Tis great, prodigious; 'tis a dreadful birth, Of wondrous fate; and now, just now disclosing. I see, I see! how terrible it dawns, And my soul sickens with it!

1 Cit. How the god shakes him!

Tir. He comes, he comes! Victory! conquest! triumph! But oh! guiltless and guilty: murder! parricide! Incest! discovery! punishment—'tis ended, And all your sufferings o'er.

A Trumpet within: enter HAEMON.

Haem. Rouse up, you Thebans; tune your Io Paeans! Your king returns; the Argians are o'ercome; Their warlike prince in single combat taken, And led in bands by god-like OEdipus!

All. OEdipus, OEdipus, OEdipus!

Creon. Furies confound his fortune!— [Aside. Haste, all haste, [To them. And meet with blessings our victorious king; Decree processions; bid new holidays; Crown all the statues of our gods with garlands; And raise a brazen column, thus inscribed,— To OEdipus, now twice a conqueror; deliverer of his Thebes. Trust me, I weep for joy to see this day.

Tir. Yes, heaven knows why thou weep'st.—Go, countrymen, And, as you use to supplicate your gods, So meet your king with bays, and olive branches; Bow down, and touch his knees, and beg from him An end of all your woes; for only he Can give it you. [Exit TIRESIAS, the People following.

Enter OEDIPUS in triumph; ADRASTUS prisoner; DYMAS, Train.

Cre. All hail, great OEdipus! Thou mighty conqueror, hail; welcome to Thebes; To thy own Thebes; to all that's left of Thebes; For half thy citizens are swept away, And wanting for thy triumphs; And we, the happy remnant, only live To welcome thee, and die.

OEdip. Thus pleasure never comes sincere to man, But lent by heaven upon hard usury; And while Jove holds us out the bowl of joy, Ere it can reach our lips, 'tis dashed with gall By some left-handed god. O mournful triumph! O conquest gained abroad, and lost at home! O Argos, now rejoice, for Thebes lies low! Thy slaughtered sons now smile, and think they won, When they can count more Theban ghosts than theirs.

Adr. No; Argos mourns with Thebes; you tempered so Your courage while you fought, that mercy seemed The manlier virtue, and much more prevailed; While Argos is a people, think your Thebes Can never want for subjects. Every nation Will crowd to serve where OEdipus commands.

Cre. [To HAEM.] How mean it shews, to fawn upon the victor!

Haem. Had you beheld him fight, you had said otherwise. Come, 'tis brave bearing in him, not to envy Superior virtue.

OEdip. This indeed is conquest, To gain a friend like you: Why were we foes?

Adr. 'Cause we were kings, and each disdained an equal. I fought to have it in my power to do What thou hast done, and so to use my conquest. To shew thee, honour was my only motive, Know this, that were my army at thy gates, And Thebes thus waste, I would not take the gift, Which, like a toy dropt from the hands of fortune, Lay for the next chance-comer.

OEdip. [Embracing.] No more captive, But brother of the war. 'Tis much more pleasant, And safer, trust me, thus to meet thy love, Than when hard gauntlets clenched our warlike hands, And kept them from soft use.

Adr. My conqueror!

OEdip. My friend! that other name keeps enmity alive. But longer to detain thee were a crime; To love, and to Eurydice, go free. Such welcome, as a ruined town can give, Expect from me; the rest let her supply.

Adr. I go without a blush, though conquered twice, By you, and by my princess. [Exit ADRASTUS.

Cre. [Aside.] Then I am conquered thrice; by OEdipus, And her, and even by him, the slave of both. Gods, I'm beholden to you, for making me your image; Would I could make you mine! [Exit CREON.

Enter the People with branches in their hands, holding them up, and kneeling: Two Priests before them.

OEdip. Alas, my people! What means this speechless sorrow, downcast eyes, And lifted hands? If there be one among you, Whom grief has left a tongue, speak for the rest.

1 Pr. O father of thy country! To thee these knees are bent, these eyes are lifted, As to a visible divinity; A prince, on whom heaven safely might repose The business of mankind; for Providence Might on thy careful bosom sleep secure, And leave her task to thee. But where's the glory of thy former acts? Even that's destroyed, when none shall live to speak it. Millions of subjects shalt thou have; but mute. A people of the dead; a crowded desert; A midnight silence at the noon of day.

OEdip. O were our gods as ready with their pity, As I with mine, this presence should be thronged With all I left alive; and my sad eyes Not search in vain for friends, whose promised sight Flattered my toils of war.

1 Pr. Twice our deliverer!

OEdip. Nor are now your vows Addrest to one who sleeps. When this unwelcome news first reached my ears, Dymas was sent to Delphos, to enquire The cause and cure of this contagious ill, And is this day returned; but, since his message Concerns the public, I refused to hear it But in this general presence: Let him speak.

Dym. A dreadful answer from the hallowed urn, And sacred tripos, did the priestess give, In these mysterious words.

The Oracle. Shed in a cursed hour, by cursed hand, Blood-royal unrevenged has cursed the land. When Laius' death is expiated well, Your plague shall cease. The rest let Laius tell.

OEdip. Dreadful indeed! Blood, and a king's blood too! And such a king's, and by his subjects shed! (Else why this curse on Thebes?) No wonder then If monsters, wars, and plagues, revenge such crimes! If heaven be just, its whole artillery, All must be emptied on us: Not one bolt Shall err from Thebes; but more be called for, more; New-moulded thunder of a larger size, Driven by whole Jove. What, touch anointed power! Then, Gods, beware; Jove would himself be next, Could you but reach him too.

2 Pr. We mourn the sad remembrance.

OEdip. Well you may; Worse than a plague infects you: You're devoted To mother earth, and to the infernal powers; Hell has a right in you. I thank you, gods, That I'm no Theban born: How my blood curdles! As if this curse touched me, and touched me nearer Than all this presence!—Yes, 'tis a king's blood, And I, a king, am tied in deeper bonds To expiate this blood. But where, from whom, Or how must I atone it? Tell me, Thebans, How Laius fell; for a confused report Passed through my ears, when first I took the crown; But full of hurry, like a morning dream, It vanished in the business of the day.[4]

1 Pr. He went in private forth, but thinly followed, And ne'er returned to Thebes.

OEdip. Nor any from him? came there no attendant? None to bring news?

2 Pr. But one; and he so wounded, He scarce drew breath to speak some few faint words.

OEdip. What were they? something may be learnt from thence.

1 Pr. He said, a band of robbers watched their passage, Who took advantage of a narrow way, To murder Laius and the rest; himself Left too for dead.

OEdip. Made you no more enquiry, But took this bare relation?

2 Pr. 'Twas neglected; For then the monster Sphinx began to rage, And present cares soon buried the remote: So was it hushed, and never since revived.

OEdip. Mark, Thebans, mark! Just then, the Sphinx began to rage among you; The gods took hold even of the offending minute, And dated thence your woes: Thence will I trace them.

1 Pr. 'Tis just thou should'st.

OEdip. Hear then this dreadful imprecation; hear it; 'Tis laid on all; not any one exempt: Bear witness, heaven, avenge it on the perjured! If any Theban born, if any stranger Reveal this murder, or produce its author, Ten attick talents be his just reward: But if, for fear, for favour, or for hire, The murderer he conceal, the curse of Thebes Fall heavy on his head: Unite our plagues, Ye gods, and place them there: From fire and water, Converse, and all things common, be he banished. But for the murderer's self, unfound by man, Find him, ye powers celestial and infernal! And the same fate, or worse than Laius met, Let be his lot: His children be accurst; His wife and kindred, all of his, be cursed!

Both Pr. Confirm it, heaven!

Enter JOCASTA, attended by Women.

Joc. At your devotions? Heaven succeed your wishes; And bring the effect of these your pious prayers On you, and me, and all.

Pr. Avert this omen, heaven!

OEdip. O fatal sound! unfortunate Jocasta! What hast thou said! an ill hour hast thou chosen For these fore-boding words! why, we were cursing!

Joc. Then may that curse fall only where you laid it.

OEdip. Speak no more! For all thou say'st is ominous: We were cursing; And that dire imprecation has thou fastened On Thebes, and thee, and me, and all of us.

Joc. Are then my blessings turned into a curse? O unkind OEdipus! My former lord Thought me his blessing; be thou like my Laius.

OEdip. What, yet again? the third time hast thou cursed me: This imprecation was for Laius' death, And thou hast wished me like him.

Joc. Horror seizes me!

OEdip. Why dost thou gaze upon me? pr'ythee, love, Take off thy eye; it burdens me too much.

Joc. The more I look, the more I find of Laius: His speech, his garb, his action; nay, his frown,— For I have seen it,—but ne'er bent on me.

OEdip. Are we so like?

Joc. In all things but his love.

OEdip. I love thee more: So well I love, words cannot speak how well. No pious son e'er loved his mother more, Than I my dear Jocasta.

Joc. I love you too The self-same way; and when you chid, methought A mother's love start[5] up in your defence, And bade me not be angry. Be not you; For I love Laius still, as wives should love; But you more tenderly, as part of me: And when I have you in my arms, methinks I lull my child asleep.

OEdip. Then we are blest; And all these curses sweep along the skies Like empty clouds, but drop not on our heads.

Joc. I have not joyed an hour since you departed, For public miseries, and for private fears; But this blest meeting has o'er-paid them all. Good fortune, that comes seldom, comes more welcome. All I can wish for now, is your consent To make my brother happy.

OEdip. How, Jocasta?

Joc. By marriage with his niece, Eurydice.

OEdip. Uncle and niece! they are too near, my love; 'Tis too like incest; 'tis offence to kind: Had I not promised, were there no Adrastus, No choice but Creon left her of mankind, They should not marry: Speak no more of it; The thought disturbs me.

Joc. Heaven can never bless A vow so broken, which I made to Creon; Remember, he is my brother.

OEdip. That is the bar; And she thy daughter: Nature would abhor To be forced back again upon herself, And, like a whirlpool, swallow her own streams.

Joc. Be not displeased: I'll move the suit no more.

OEdip. No, do not; for, I know not why, it shakes me, When I but think on incest. Move we forward, To thank the gods for my success, and pray To wash the guilt of royal blood away. [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—_An open Gallery. A Royal Bed-chamber being supposed behind.

The Time, Night. Thunder, &c._

Enter HAEMON, ALCANDER, and PYRACMON.

Haem. Sure 'tis the end of all things! fate has torn The lock of time off, and his head is now The ghastly ball of round eternity! Call you these peals of thunder, but the yawn Of bellowing clouds? By Jove, they seem to me The world's last groans; and those vast sheets of flame Are its last blaze. The tapers of the gods, The sun and moon, run down like waxen-globes; The shooting stars end all in purple jellies[6], And chaos is at hand.

Pyr. 'Tis midnight, yet there's not a Theban sleeps, But such as ne'er must wake. All crowd about The palace, and implore, as from a god, Help of the king; who, from the battlement, By the red lightning's glare descried afar, Atones the angry powers. [Thunder, &c.

Haem. Ha! Pyracmon, look; Behold, Alcander, from yon' west of heaven, The perfect figures of a man and woman; A sceptre, bright with gems, in each right hand, Their flowing robes of dazzling purple made: Distinctly yonder in that point they stand, Just west; a bloody red stains all the place; And see, their faces are quite hid in clouds.

Pyr. Clusters of golden stars hang o'er their heads, And seem so crowded, that they burst upon them: All dart at once their baleful influence, In leaking fire.

Alc. Long-bearded comets stick, Like flaming porcupines, to their left sides, As they would shoot their quills into their hearts.

Haem. But see! the king, and queen, and all the court! Did ever day or night shew aught like this? [Thunders again. The Scene draws, and discovers the Prodigies.

Enter OEDIPUS, JOCASTA, EURYDICE, ADRASTUS; and all coming forward with amazement.

OEdip. Answer, you powers divine! spare all this noise, This rack of heaven, and speak your fatal pleasure. Why breaks yon dark and dusky orb away? Why from the bleeding womb of monstrous night, Burst forth such myriads of abortive stars? Ha! my Jocasta, look! the silver moon! A settling crimson stains her beauteous face! She's all o'er blood! and look, behold again, What mean the mystic heavens she journies on? A vast eclipse darkens the labouring planet:— Sound there, sound all our instruments of war; Clarions and trumpets, silver, brass, and iron, And beat a thousand drums, to help her labour.

Adr. 'Tis vain; you see the prodigies continue; Let's gaze no more, the gods are humorous.

OEdip. Forbear, rash man.—Once more I ask your pleasure! If that the glow-worm light of human reason Might dare to offer at immortal knowledge, And cope with gods, why all this storm of nature? Why do the rocks split, and why rolls the sea? Why those portents in heaven, and plagues on earth? Why yon gigantic forms, ethereal monsters? Alas! is all this but to fright the dwarfs, Which your own hands have made? Then be it so. Or if the fates resolve some expiation For murdered Laius; hear me, hear me, gods! Hear me thus prostrate: Spare this groaning land, Save innocent Thebes, stop the tyrant death; Do this, and lo, I stand up an oblation, To meet your swiftest and severest anger; Shoot all at once, and strike me to the centre.

The Cloud draws, that veiled the Heads of the Figures in the Sky, and shews them crowned, with the names of OEDIPUS and JOCASTA, written above in great characters of gold.

Adr. Either I dream, and all my cooler senses Are vanished with that cloud that fleets away, Or just above those two majestic heads, I see, I read distinctly, in large gold, OEdipus and Jocasta.

Alc. I read the same.

Adr. 'Tis wonderful; yet ought not man to wade Too far in the vast deep of destiny. [Thunder; and the Prodigies vanish.

Joc. My lord, my OEdipus, why gaze you now, When the whole heaven is clear, as if the gods Had some new monsters made? will you not turn, And bless your people, who devour each word You breathe?

OEdip. It shall be so. Yes, I will die, O Thebes, to save thee! Draw from my heart my blood, with more content Than e'er I wore thy crown.—Yet, O Jocasta! By all the endearments of miraculous love, By all our languishings, our fears in pleasure, Which oft have made us wonder; here I swear, On thy fair hand, upon thy breast I swear, I cannot call to mind, from budding childhood To blooming youth, a crime by me committed, For which the awful gods should doom my death.

Joc. 'Tis not you, my lord, But he who murdered Laius, frees the land. Were you, which is impossible, the man, Perhaps my poniard first should drink your blood; But you are innocent, as your Jocasta, From crimes like those. This made me violent To save your life, which you unjust would lose: Nor can you comprehend, with deepest thought, The horrid agony you cast me in, When you resolved to die.

OEdip. Is't possible?

Joc. Alas! why start you so? Her stiffening grief, Who saw her children slaughtered all at once, Was dull to mine: Methinks, I should have made My bosom bare against the armed god, To save my OEdipus!

OEdip. I pray, no more.

Joc. You've silenced me, my lord.

OEdip. Pardon me, dear Jocasta! Pardon a heart that sinks with sufferings, And can but vent itself in sobs and murmurs: Yet, to restore my peace, I'll find him out. Yes, yes, you gods! you shall have ample vengeance On Laius' murderer. O, the traitor's name! I'll know't, I will; art shall be conjured for it, And nature all unravelled.

Joc. Sacred sir—

OEdip. Rage will have way, and 'tis but just; I'll fetch him, Though lodged in air upon a dragon's wing, Though rocks should hide him: Nay, he shall be dragged From hell, if charms can hurry him along: His ghost shall be, by sage Tiresias' power,— Tiresias, that rules all beneath the moon,— Confined to flesh, to suffer death once more; And then be plunged in his first fires again.

Enter CREON.

Cre. My lord, Tiresias attends your pleasure.

OEdip. Haste, and bring him in.— O, my Jocasta, Eurydice, Adrastus, Creon, and all ye Thebans, now the end Of plagues, of madness, murders, prodigies, Draws on: This battle of the heavens and earth Shall by his wisdom be reduced to peace.

Enter TIRESIAS, leaning on a staff, led by his Daughter MANTO, followed by other Thebans.

O thou, whose most aspiring mind Knows all the business of the courts above, Opens the closets of the gods, and dares To mix with Jove himself and Fate at council; O prophet, answer me, declare aloud The traitor, who conspired the death of Laius; Or be they more, who from malignant stars Have drawn this plague, that blasts unhappy Thebes?

Tir. We must no more than Fate commissions us To tell; yet something, and of moment, I'll unfold, If that the god would wake; I feel him now, Like a strong spirit charmed into a tree, That leaps, and moves the wood without a wind: The roused god, as all this while he lay Entombed alive, starts and dilates himself; He struggles, and he tears my aged trunk With holy fury; my old arteries burst; My rivell'd skin, Like parchment, crackles at the hallowed fire; I shall be young again:—Manto, my daughter, Thou hast a voice that might have saved the bard Of Thrace, and forced the raging bacchanals, With lifted prongs, to listen to thy airs. O charm this god, this fury in my bosom, Lull him with tuneful notes, and artful strings, With powerful strains; Manto, my lovely child, Sooth the unruly godhead to be mild.

SONG TO APOLLO.

Phoebus, god beloved by men, At thy dawn, every beast is roused in his den; At thy setting, all the birds of thy absence complain, And we die, all die, till the morning comes again. Phoebus, god beloved by men! Idol of the eastern kings, Awful as the god who flings His thunder round, and the lightning wings; God of songs, and Orphean strings, Who to this mortal bosom brings All harmonious heavenly things! Thy drowsy prophet to revive, Ten thousand thousand forms before him drive: With chariots and horses all o'fire awake him, Convulsions, and furies, and prophesies shake him: Let him tell it in groans, though he bend with the load, Though he burst with the weight of the terrible god.

Tir. The wretch, who shed the blood of old Labdacides, Lives, and is great; But cruel greatness ne'er was long. The first of Laius' blood his life did seize, And urged his fate, Which else had lasting been and strong. The wretch, who Laius killed, must bleed or fly; Or Thebes, consumed with plagues, in ruins lie.

OEdip. The first of Laius' blood! pronounce the person; May the god roar from thy prophetic mouth, That even the dead may start up, to behold; Name him, I say, that most accursed wretch, For, by the stars, he dies! Speak, I command thee; By Phoebus, speak; for sudden death's his doom: Here shall he fall, bleed on this very spot; His name, I charge thee once more, speak.

Tir. 'Tis lost, Like what we think can never shun remembrance; Yet of a sudden's gone beyond the clouds.

OEdip. Fetch it from thence; I'll have't, wheree'er it be.

Cre. Let me entreat you, sacred sir, be calm, And Creon shall point out the great offender. 'Tis true, respect of nature might enjoin Me silence, at another time; but, oh, Much more the power of my eternal love! That, that should strike me dumb; yet Thebes, my country— I'll break through all, to succour thee, poor city! O, I must speak.

OEdip. Speak then, if aught thou knowest, As much thou seem'st to know,—delay no longer.

Cre. O beauty! O illustrious, royal maid! To whom my vows were ever paid, till now; And with such modest, chaste, and pure affection, The coldest nymph might read'em without blushing; Art thou the murdress, then, of wretched Laius? And I, must I accuse thee! O my tears! Why will you fall in so abhorred a cause? But that thy beauteous, barbarous hand destroyed Thy father, (O monstrous act!) both gods And men at once take notice.

OEdip. Eurydice!

Eur. Traitor, go on; I scorn thy little malice; And knowing more my perfect innocence, Than gods and men, then how much more than thee, Who art their opposite, and formed a liar, I thus disdain thee! Thou once didst talk of love; Because I hate thy love, Thou dost accuse me.

Adr. Villain, inglorious villain, And traitor, doubly damned, who durst blaspheme The spotless virtue of the brightest beauty; Thou diest: Nor shall the sacred majesty, [Draws and wounds him. That guards this place, preserve thee from my rage.

OEdip. Disarm them both!—Prince, I shall make you know, That, I can tame you twice. Guards, seize him.

Adr. Sir, I must acknowledge, in another cause Repentance might abash me; but I glory In this, and smile to see the traitor's blood.

OEdip. Creon, you shall be satisfied at full.

Cre. My hurt is nothing, sir; but I appeal To wise Tiresias, if my accusation Be not most true. The first of Laius' blood Gave him his death. Is there a prince before her? Then she is faultless, and I ask her pardon. And may this blood ne'er cease to drop, O Thebes, If pity of thy sufferings did not move me, To shew the cure which heaven itself prescribed.

Eur. Yes, Thebans, I will die to save your lives. More willingly than you can wish my fate; But let this good, this wise, this holy man, Pronounce my sentence: For to fall by him, By the vile breath of that prodigious villain, Would sink my soul, though I should die a martyr.

Adr. Unhand me, slaves.—O mightiest of kings, See at your feet a prince not used to kneel; Touch not Eurydice, by all the gods, As you would save your Thebes, but take my life: For should she perish, heaven would heap plagues on plagues, Rain sulphur down, hurl kindled bolts Upon your guilty heads.

Cre. You turn to gallantry, what is but justice; Proof will be easy made. Adrastus was The robber, who bereft the unhappy king Of life; because he flatly had denied To make so poor a prince his son-in-law; Therefore 'twere fit that both should perish.

1 Theb. Both, let both die.

All Theb. Both, both; let them die.

OEdip. Hence, you wild herd! For your ringleader here, He shall be made example. Haemon, take him.

1 Theb. Mercy, O mercy!

OEdip. Mutiny in my presence! Hence, let me see that busy face no more.

Tir. Thebans, what madness makes you drunk with rage? Enough of guilty death's already acted: Fierce Creon has accused Eurydice, With prince Adrastus; which the god reproves By inward checks, and leaves their fates in doubt.

OEdip. Therefore instruct us what remains to do, Or suffer; for I feel a sleep like death Upon me, and I sigh to be at rest.

Tir. Since that the powers divine refuse to clear The mystic deed, I'll to the grove of furies; There I can force the infernal gods to shew Their horrid forms; each trembling ghost shall rise, And leave their grisly king without a waiter. For prince Adrastus and Eurydice, My life's engaged, I'll guard them in the fane, 'Till the dark mysteries of hell are done. Follow me, princes; Thebans, all to rest. O, OEdipus, to-morrow—but no more. If that thy wakeful genius will permit, Indulge thy brain this night with softer slumbers: To-morrow, O to-morrow!—Sleep, my son; And in prophetic dreams thy fate be shown. [Exeunt TIR. ADR. EUR. MAN. and Theb.

Manent OEDIPUS, JOCASTA, CREON, PYRACMON, HAEMON, and ALCANDER.

OEdip. To bed, my fair, my dear, my best Jocasta. After the toils of war, 'tis wondrous strange Our loves should thus be dashed. One moment's thought, And I'll approach the arms of my beloved.

Joc. Consume whole years in care, so now and then I may have leave to feed my famished eyes With one short passing glance, and sigh my vows: This, and no more, my lord, is all the passion Of languishing Jocasta. [Exit.

OEdip. Thou softest, sweetest of the world! good night.— Nay, she is beauteous too; yet, mighty love! I never offered to obey thy laws, But an unusual chillness came upon me; An unknown hand still checked my forward joy, Dashed me with blushes, though no light was near; That even the act became a violation.

Pyr. He's strangely thoughtful.

OEdip. Hark! who was that? Ha! Creon, didst thou call me?

Cre. Not I, my gracious lord, nor any here.

OEdip. That's strange! methought I heard a doleful voice Cry, OEdipus.—The prophet bade me sleep. He talked of dreams, and visions, and to-morrow! I'll muse no more; come what will, or can, My thoughts are clearer than unclouded stars; And with those thoughts I'll rest. Creon, good-night. [Exit with HAEM.

Cre. Sleep seal your eyes up, sir,—eternal sleep! But if he sleep and wake again, O all Tormenting dreams, wild horrors of the night, And hags of fancy, wing him through the air: From precipices hurl him headlong down, Charybdis roar, and death be set before him!

Alc. Your curses have already taken effect, For he looks very sad.

Cre. May he be rooted, where he stands, for ever; His eye-balls never move, brows be unbent, His blood, his entrails, liver, heart, and bowels, Be blacker than the place I wish him, hell.

Pyr. No more; you tear yourself, but vex not him. Methinks 'twere brave this night to force the temple, While blind Tiresias conjures up the fiends, And pass the time with nice Eurydice.

Alc. Try promises and threats, and if all fail, Since hell's broke loose, why should not you be mad? Ravish, and leave her dead with her Adrastus.

Cre. Were the globe mine, I'd give a province hourly For such another thought.—Lust and revenge! To stab at once the only man I hate, And to enjoy the woman whom I love! I ask no more of my auspicious stars, The rest as fortune please; so but this night She play me fair, why, let her turn for ever.

Enter HAEMON.

Haem. My lord, the troubled king is gone to rest; Yet, ere he slept, commanded me to clear The antichambers; none must dare be near him.

Cre. Haemon, you do your duty; [Thunder. And we obey.—The night grows yet more dreadful! 'Tis just that all retire to their devotions. The gods are angry; but to-morrow's dawn, If prophets do not lie, will make all clear.

As they go off, OEDIPUS enters, walking asleep in his shirt, with a dagger in his right hand, and a taper in his left.

OEdip. O, my Jocasta! 'tis for this, the wet Starved soldier lies on the cold ground; For this, he bears the storms Of winter camps, and freezes in his arms; To be thus circled, to be thus embraced. That I could hold thee ever!—Ha! where art thou? What means this melancholy light, that seems The gloom of glowing embers? The curtain's drawn; and see she's here again! Jocasta? Ha! what, fallen asleep so soon? How fares my love? this taper will inform me.— Ha! Lightning blast me, thunder Rivet me ever to Prometheus' rock, And vultures gnaw out my incestuous heart!— By all the gods, my mother Merope! My sword! a dagger! ha, who waits there? Slaves, My sword!—What, Haemon, dar'st thou, villain, stop me? With thy own poniard perish.—Ha! who's this? Or is't a change of death? By all my honours, New murder; thou hast slain old Polybus: Incest and parricide,—thy father's murderer! Out, thou infernal flame!—Now all is dark, All blind and dismal, most triumphant mischief! And now, while thus I stalk about the room, I challenge Fate to find another wretch Like OEdipus! [Thunder, &c.

Enter JOCASTA attended, with Lights, in a Night-gown.

OEdip. Night, horror, death, confusion, hell, and furies! Where am I?—O, Jocasta, let me hold thee, Thus to my bosom! ages let me grasp thee! All that the hardest-tempered weathered flesh, With fiercest human spirit inspired, can dare, Or do, I dare; but, oh you powers, this was, By infinite degrees, too much for man. Methinks my deafened ears Are burst; my eyes, as if they had been knocked By some tempestuous hand, shoot flashing fire;— That sleep should do this!

Joc. Then my fears were true. Methought I heard your voice,—and yet I doubted,— Now roaring like the ocean, when the winds Fight with the waves; now, in a still small tone Your dying accents fell, as wrecking ships, After the dreadful yell, sink murmuring down, And bubble up a noise.

OEdip. Trust me, thou fairest, best of all thy kind, None e'er in dreams was tortured so before. Yet what most shocks the niceness of my temper, Even far beyond the killing of my father, And my own death, is, that this horrid sleep Dashed my sick fancy with an act of incest: I dreamt, Jocasta, that thou wert my mother; Which, though impossible, so damps my spirits, That I could do a mischief on myself, Lest I should sleep, and dream the like again.

Joc. O OEdipus, too well I understand you! I know the wrath of heaven, the care of Thebes, The cries of its inhabitants, war's toils, And thousand other labours of the state, Are all referred to you, and ought to take you For ever from Jocasta.

OEdip. Life of my life, and treasure of my soul, Heaven knows I love thee.

Joc. O, you think me vile, And of an inclination so ignoble, That I must hide me from your eyes for ever. Be witness, gods, and strike Jocasta dead, If an immodest thought, or low desire, Inflamed my breast, since first our loves were lighted.

OEdip. O rise, and add not, by thy cruel kindness, A grief more sensible than all my torments. Thou thinkest my dreams are forged; but by thyself, The greatest oath, I swear, they are most true; But, be they what they will, I here dismiss them. Begone, chimeras, to your mother clouds! Is there a fault in us? Have we not searched The womb of heaven, examined all the entrails Of birds and beasts, and tired the prophet's art? Yet what avails? He, and the gods together, Seem, like physicians, at a loss to help us; Therefore, like wretches that have lingered long, We'll snatch the strongest cordial of our love; To bed, my fair.

Ghost. [Within.] OEdipus!

OEdip. Ha! who calls? Didst thou not hear a voice?

Joc. Alas! I did.

Ghost. Jocasta!

Joc. O my love, my lord, support me!

OEdip. Call louder, till you burst your airy forms!— Rest on my hand. Thus, armed with innocence, I'll face these babbling daemons of the air; In spite of ghosts, I'll on. Though round my bed the furies plant their charms, I'll break them, with Jocasta in my arms; Clasped in the folds of love, I'll wait my doom; And act my joys, though thunder shake the room. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.—A dark Grove.

Enter CREON and DIOCLES.

Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than be unhappy.

Dioc. What mean you by these words?

Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than to be Creon. A thinking soul is punishment enough; But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too, Then every thought draws blood.

Dioc. You are not wretched.

Cre. I am: my soul's ill married to my body. I would be young, be handsome, be beloved: Could I but breathe myself into Adrastus!—

Dioc. You rave; call home your thoughts.

Cre. I pr'ythee let my soul take air a while; Were she in OEdipus, I were a king; Then I had killed a monster, gained a battle, And had my rival prisoner; brave, brave actions! Why have not I done these?

Dioc. Your fortune hindered.

Cre. There's it; I have a soul to do them all: But fortune will have nothing done that's great, But by young handsome fools; body and brawn Do all her work: Hercules was a fool, And straight grew famous; a mad boist'rous fool, Nay worse, a woman's fool; Fool is the stuff, of which heaven makes a hero.

Dioc. A serpent ne'er becomes a flying dragon, Till he has eat a serpent[7].

Cre. Goes it there? I understand thee; I must kill Adrastus.

Dioc. Or not enjoy your mistress: Eurydice and he are prisoners here, But will not long be so: This tell-tale ghost Perhaps will clear 'em both.

Cre. Well: 'tis resolved.

Dioc. The princess walks this way; You must not meet her, Till this be done.

Cre. I must.

Dioc. She hates your sight; And more, since you accused her.

Cre. Urge it not. I cannot stay to tell thee my design; For she's too near.

Enter EURYDICE.

How, madam, were your thoughts employed?

Eur. On death, and thee.

Cre. Then were they not well sorted: Life and me Had been the better match.

Eur. No, I was thinking On two the most detested things in nature: And they are death and thee.

Cre. The thought of death to one near death is dreadful! O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more; Or, if to be, to wander after death; To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day; And when the darkness comes, to glide in paths That lead to graves; and in the silent vault, Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, Striving to enter your forbidden corps, And often, often, vainly breathe your ghost Into your lifeless lips; Then, like a lone benighted traveller, Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answered By whistling winds, whose every blast will shake Your tender form to atoms.

Eur. Must I be this thin being? and thus wander? No quiet after death!

Cre. None: You must leave This beauteous body; all this youth and freshness Must be no more the object of desire, But a cold lump of clay; Which then your discontented ghost will leave, And loath its former lodging. This is the best of what comes after death. Even to the best.

Eur. What then shall be thy lot?— Eternal torments, baths of boiling sulphur, Vicissitudes of fires, and then of frosts; And an old guardian fiend, ugly as thou art, To hollow in thy ears at every lash,— This for Eurydice; these for her Adrastus!

Cre. For her Adrastus!

Eur. Yes; for her Adrastus: For death shall ne'er divide us: Death? what's death!

Dioc. You seemed to fear it.

Eur. But I more fear Creon: To take that hunch-backed monster in my arms! The excrescence of a man!

Dioc. to Cre. See what you've gained.

Eur. Death only can be dreadful to the bad: To innocence, 'tis like a bug-bear dressed To frighten children; pull but off his masque, And he'll appear a friend.

Cre. You talk too slightly Of death and hell. Let me inform you better.

Eur. You best can tell the news of your own country.

Dioc. Nay, now you are too sharp.

Eur. Can I be so to one, who has accused me Of murder and of parricide?

Cre. You provoked me: And yet I only did thus far accuse you, As next of blood to Laius: Be advised, And you may live.

Eur. The means?

Cre. 'Tis offered you. The fool Adrastus has accused himself.

Eur. He has indeed, to take the guilt from me.

Cre. He says he loves you; if he does, 'tis well: He ne'er could prove it in a better time.

Eur. Then death must be his recompence for love?

Cre. 'Tis a fool's just reward; The wise can make a better use of life. But 'tis the young man's pleasure; his ambition: I grudge him not that favour.

Eur. When he's dead, Where shall I find his equal!

Cre. Every where. Fine empty things, like him, the court swarms with them. Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common, Crows feed on nothing else: plenty of fools; A glut of them in Thebes. And fortune still takes care they should be seen: She places 'em aloft, o'th' topmost spoke Of all her wheel. Fools are the daily work Of nature; her vocation; if she form A man, she loses by't, 'tis too expensive; 'Twould make ten fools: A man's a prodigy.

Eur. That is, a Creon: O thou black detractor, Who spit'st thy venom against gods and men! Thou enemy of eyes; Thou, who lov'st nothing but what nothing loves, And that's thyself; who hast conspired against My life and fame, to make me loathed by all, And only fit for thee. But for Adrastus' death,—good Gods, his death!— What curse shall I invent?

Dioc. No more: he's here.

Eur. He shall be ever here. He who would give his life, give up his fame—

Enter ADRASTUS.

If all the excellence of woman-kind Were mine;—No, 'tis too little all for him: Were I made up of endless, endless joys!

Adr. And so thou art: The man, who loves like me, Would think even infamy, the worst of ills, Were cheaply purchased, were thy love the price. Uncrowned, a captive, nothing left but honour,— 'Tis the last thing a prince should throw away; But when the storm grows loud, and threatens love, Throw even that o'er-board; for love's the jewel, And last it must be kept.

Cre. [To DIOC.] Work him, be sure, To rage; he is passionate; Make him the aggressor.

Dioc. O false love, false honour!

Cre. Dissembled both, and false!

Adr. Darest thou say this to me?

Cre. To you! why what are you, that I should fear you? I am not Laius. Hear me, prince of Argos; You give what's nothing, when you give your honour: 'Tis gone; 'tis lost in battle. For your love, Vows made in wine are not so false as that: You killed her father; you confessed you did: A mighty argument to prove your passion to the daughter!

Adr. [Aside.] Gods, must I bear this brand, and not retort The lye to his foul throat!

Dioc. Basely you killed him.

Adr. [Aside.] O, I burn inward: my blood's all on fire! Alcides, when the poisoned shirt sate closest, Had but an ague-fit to this my fever. Yet, for Eurydice, even this I'll suffer, To free my love.—Well then, I killed him basely.

Cre. Fairly, I'm sure, you could not.

Dioc. Nor alone.

Cre. You had your fellow thieves about you, prince; They conquered, and you killed.

Adr. [Aside.] Down, swelling heart! 'Tis for thy princess all:—O my Eurydice!— [To her.

Eur. [To him.] Reproach not thus the weakness of my sex, As if I could not bear a shameful death, Rather than see you burdened with a crime Of which I know you free.

Cre. You do ill, madam, To let your head-long love triumph o'er nature: Dare you defend your father's murderer?

Eur. You know he killed him not.

Cre. Let him say so.

Dioc. See, he stands mute.

Cre. O power of conscience, even in wicked men! It works, it stings, it will not let him utter One syllable, one,—no, to clear himself From the most base, detested, horrid act That ere could stain a villain,—not a prince.

Adr. Ha! villain!

Dioc. Echo to him, groves: cry villain.

Adr. Let me consider—did I murder Laius, Thus, like a villain?

Cre. Best revoke your words, And say you killed him not.

Adr. Not like a villain; pr'ythee, change me that For any other lye.

Dioc. No, villain, villain.

Cre. You killed him not! proclaim your innocence, Accuse the princess: So I knew 'twould be.

Adr. I thank thee, thou instructest me: No matter how I killed him.

Cre. [Aside.] Cooled again!

Eur. Thou, who usurp'st the sacred name of conscience, Did not thy own declare him innocent? To me declare him so? The king shall know it.

Cre. You will not be believed, for I'll forswear it.

Eur. What's now thy conscience?

Cre. 'Tis my slave, my drudge, my supple glove, My upper garment, to put on, throw off, As I think best: 'Tis my obedient conscience.

Adr. Infamous wretch!

Cre. My conscience shall not do me the ill office To save a rival's life; when thou art dead, (As dead thou shalt be, or be yet more base Than thou think'st me, By forfeiting her life, to save thy own,—) Know this,—and let it grate thy very soul,— She shall be mine: (she is, if vows were binding;) Mark me, the fruit of all thy faith and passion, Even of thy foolish death, shall all be mine.

Adr. Thine, say'st thou, monster! shall my love be thine? O, I can bear no more! Thy cunning engines have with labour raised My heavy anger, like a mighty weight, To fall and pash thee dead. See here thy nuptials; see, thou rash Ixion, [Draws. Thy promised Juno vanished in a cloud; And in her room avenging thunder rolls, To blast thee thus!—Come both!— [Both draw.

Cre. 'Tis what I wished. Now see whose arm can launch the surer bolt, And who's the better Jove! [Fight.

Eur. Help; murther, help!

Enter HAEMON and guards, run betwixt them, and beat down their swords.

Haem. Hold, hold your impious hands! I think the furies, To whom this grove is hallowed, have inspired you: Now, by my soul, the holiest earth of Thebes You have profaned with war. Nor tree, nor plant Grows here, but what is fed with magick juice; All full of human souls, that cleave their barks To dance at midnight by the moon's pale beams: At least two hundred years these reverend shades Have known no blood, but of black sheep and oxen, Shed by the priest's own hand to Proserpine.

Adr. Forgive a stranger's ignorance: I knew not The honours of the place.

Haem. Thou, Creon, didst. Not OEdipus, were all his foes here lodged, Durst violate the religion of these groves, To touch one single hair; but must, unarmed, Parle as in truce, or surlily avoid What most he longed to kill[8].

Cre. I drew not first, But in my own defence.

Adr. I was provoked Beyond man's patience; all reproach could urge Was used to kindle one, not apt to bear.

Haem. 'Tis OEdipus, not I, must judge this act.— Lord Creon, you and Diocles retire: Tiresias, and the brother-hood of priests, Approach the place: None at these rites assist, But you the accused, who by the mouth of Laius Must be absolved or doomed.

Adr. I bear my fortune.

Eur. And I provoke my trial.

Haem. 'Tis at hand. For see, the prophet comes, with vervain crowned; The priests with yew, a venerable band; We leave you to the gods. [Exit HAEMON with CREON and DIOCLES.

Enter TIRESIAS, led by MANTO: The Priests follow; all cloathed in long black habits.

Tir. Approach, ye lovers; Ill-fated pair! whom, seeing not, I know, This day your kindly stars in heaven were joined; When lo, an envious planet interposed, And threatened both with death: I fear, I fear!—

Eur. Is there no God so much a friend to love, Who can controul the malice of our fate? Are they all deaf; or have the giants heaven?

Tir. The gods are just; But how can finite measure infinite? Reason! alas, it does not know itself! Yet man, vain man, would with this short-lined plummet, Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. Whatever is, is in its causes just; Since all things are by fate. But purblind man Sees but a part o'the chain; the nearest links; His eyes not carrying to that equal beam, That poises all above.

Eur. Then we must die!

Tir. The danger's imminent this day.

Adr. Why then there's one day less for human ills; And who would moan himself, for suffering that, Which in a day must pass? something, or nothing;— I shall be what I was again, before I was Adrastus.— Penurious heaven, can'st thou not add a night To our one day? give me a night with her, And I'll give all the rest.

Tir. She broke her vow, First made to Creon: But the time calls on; And Laius' death must now be made more plain. How loth I am to have recourse to rites So full of horror, that I once rejoice I want the use of sight!—

1 Pr. The ceremonies stay.

Tir. Chuse the darkest part o'the grove: Such as ghosts at noon-day love. Dig a trench, and dig it nigh Where the bones of Laius lie; Altars, raised of turf or stone, Will the infernal powers have none. Answer me, if this be done?

All Pr. 'Tis done.

Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit? Draw her backward to the pit: Draw the barren heifer back; Barren let her be, and black. Cut the curled hair, that grows Full betwixt her horns and brows: And turn your faces from the sun: Answer me, if this be done?

All Pr. 'Tis done.

Tir. Pour in blood, and blood like wine, To mother Earth and Proserpine: Mingle milk into the stream; Feast the ghosts that love the steam; Snatch a brand from funeral pile; Toss it in to make them boil: And turn your faces from the sun: Answer me, if all be done?

All Pr. All is done. [Peal of Thunder; and flashes of Lightning; then groaning below the stage.

Man. O, what laments are those?

Tir. The groans of ghosts, that cleave the heart with pain, And heave it up: they pant and stick half-way. [The Stage wholly darkened.

Man. And now a sudden darkness covers all, True genuine night, night added to the groves; The fogs are blown full in the face of heaven.

Tir. Am I but half obeyed? infernal gods, Must you have musick too? then tune your voices, And let them have such sounds as hell ne'er heard, Since Orpheus bribed the shades.

Musick First. Then Song.

1. Hear, ye sullen powers below: Hear, ye taskers of the dead. 2. You that boiling cauldrons blow, You that scum the molten lead. 3. You that pinch with red-hot tongs; 1. You that drive the trembling hosts Of poor, poor ghosts, With your sharpened prongs; 2. You that thrust them off the brim; 3. You that plunge them when they swim: 1. Till they drown; Till they go On a row, Down, down, down: Ten thousand, thousand, thousand fathoms low.

Chorus. Till they drown, &c.

1. Musick for awhile Shall your cares beguile: Wondering how your pains were eased; 2. And disdaining to be pleas'd; 1. Till Alecto free the dead From their eternal bands; Till the snakes drop from her head, And whip from out her hands. 1. Come away, Do not stay, But obey, While we play, For hell's broke up, and ghosts have holiday.

Chorus. Come away, &c. [A flash of Lightning: The Stage is made bright, and the Ghosts are seen passing betwixt the Trees.

1. Laius! 2. Laius! 3. Laius!

1. Hear! 2. Hear! 3. Hear!

Tir. Hear and appear! By the Fates that spun thy thread!

Cho. Which are three.

Tir. By the furies fierce and dread!

Cho. Which are three.

Tir. By the judges of the dead!

Cho. Which are three. Three times three!

Tir. By hell's blue flame: By the Stygian Lake: And by Demogorgon's name, At which ghosts quake, Hear and appear! [The Ghost of Laius rises armed in his chariot, as he was slain. And behind his Chariot, sit the three who were murdered with him.

Ghost of Laius. Why hast thou drawn me from my pain below, To suffer worse above? to see the day, And Thebes, more hated? Hell is heaven to Thebes. For pity send me back, where I may hide, In willing night, this ignominious head: In hell I shun the public scorn; and then They hunt me for their sport, and hoot me as I fly: Behold even now they grin at my gored side, And chatter at my wounds.

Tir. I pity thee: Tell but why Thebes is for thy death accurst, And I'll unbind the charm.

Ghost. O spare my shame!

Tir. Are these two innocent?

Ghost. Of my death they are. But he who holds my crown,—Oh, must I speak!— Was doomed to do what nature most abhors. The Gods foresaw it; and forbade his being, Before he yet was born. I broke their laws, And clothed with flesh his pre-existing soul. Some kinder power, too weak for destiny, Took pity, and endued his new-formed mass With temperance, justice, prudence, fortitude, And every kingly virtue: But in vain. For fate, that sent him hood-winked to the world, Performed its work by his mistaking hands. Ask'st thou who murdered me? 'twas OEdipus: Who stains my bed with incest? OEdipus: For whom then are you curst, but OEdipus! He comes, the parricide! I cannot bear him: My wounds ake at him: Oh, his murderous breath Venoms my airy substance! hence with him, Banish him; sweep him out; the plague he bears Will blast your fields, and mark his way with ruin. From Thebes, my throne, my bed, let him be driven: Do you forbid him earth, and I'll forbid him heaven. [Ghost descends.

Enter OEDIPUS, CREON, HAEMON, &c.

OEdip. What's this! methought some pestilential blast Struck me, just entering; and some unseen hand Struggled to push me backward! tell me why My hair stands bristling up, why my flesh trembles? You stare at me! then hell has been among ye, And some lag fiend yet lingers in the grove.

Tir. What omen sawest thou, entering?

OEdip. A young stork, That bore his aged parent on his back; Till weary with the weight, he shook him off, And pecked out both his eyes.

Adr. Oh, OEdipus!

Eur. Oh, wretched OEdipus!

Tir. Oh, fatal king!

OEdip. What mean these exclamations on my name? I thank the gods, no secret thoughts reproach me: No: I dare challenge heaven to turn me outward, And shake my soul quite empty in your sight. Then wonder not that I can bear unmoved These fixed regards, and silent threats of eyes. A generous fierceness dwells with innocence; And conscious virtue is allowed some pride.

Tir. Thou knowest not what thou sayest.

OEdip. What mutters he? tell me, Eurydice: Thou shak'st: Thy soul's a woman;—speak, Adrastus, And boldly, as thou met'st my arms in fight:— Dar'st thou not speak? why then 'tis bad indeed.— Tiresias, thee I summon by thy priesthood, Tell me what news from hell; where Laius points, And whose the guilty head!

Tir. Let me not answer.

OEdip. Be dumb then, and betray thy native soil To farther plagues.

Tir. I dare not name him to thee.

OEdip. Dar'st thou converse with hell, and canst thou fear An human name?

Tir. Urge me no more to tell a thing, which, known, Would make thee more unhappy: 'Twill be found, Though I am silent.

OEdip. Old and obstinate! Then thou thyself Art author or accomplice of this murther, And shun'st the justice, which by public ban Thou hast incurred.

Tir. O, if the guilt were mine, It were not half so great: Know, wretched man, Thou only, thou art guilty! thy own curse Falls heavy on thyself.

OEdip. Speak this again: But speak it to the winds, when they are loudest, Or to the raging seas; they'll hear as soon, And sooner will believe.

Tir. Then hear me, heaven! For, blushing, thou hast seen it; hear me, earth, Whose hollow womb could not contain this murder, But sent it back to light! And thou, hell, hear me! Whose own black seal has 'firmed this horrid truth, OEdipus murthered Laius!

OEdip. Rot the tongue, And blasted be the mouth that spoke that lie! Thou blind of sight, but thou more blind of soul!

Tir. Thy parents thought not so.

OEdip. Who were my parents?

Tir. Thou shalt know too soon.

OEdip. Why seek I truth from thee? The smiles of courtiers, and the harlot's tears, The tradesman's oaths, and mourning of an heir, Are truths to what priests tell. O why has priest-hood privilege to lie, And yet to be believed!—thy age protects thee.

Tir. Thou canst not kill me; 'tis not in thy fate, As 'twas to kill thy father, wed thy mother, And beget sons, thy brothers[9].

OEdip. Riddles, riddles!

Tir. Thou art thyself a riddle; a perplext Obscure enigma, which when thou unty'st, Thou shalt be found and lost.

OEdip. Impossible!— Adrastus, speak; and, as thou art a king, Whose royal word is sacred, clear my fame.

Adr. Would I could!

OEdip. Ha, wilt thou not? Can that plebeian vice Of lying mount to kings? Can they be tainted? Then truth is lost on earth.

Cre. The cheat's too gross. Adrastus is his oracle, and he, The pious juggler, but Adrastus' organ.

OEdip. 'Tis plain, the priest's suborned to free the prisoner.

Cre. And turn the guilt, on you.

OEdip. O, honest Creon, how hast thou been belied!

Eur. Hear me.

Cre. She's bribed to save her lover's life.

Adr. If, OEdipus, thou think'st—

Cre. Hear him not speak.

Adr. Then hear these holy men.

Cre. Priests, priests; all bribed, all priests.

OEdip. Adrastus, I have found thee: The malice of a vanquished man has seized thee!

Adr. If envy and not truth—

OEdip. I'll hear no more: Away with him. [HAEMON takes him off by force: CREON and EURYDICE follow.

[To TIR.] Why stand'st thou here, impostor? So old, and yet so wicked,—Lie for gain? And gain so short as age can promise thee!

Tir. So short a time as I have yet to live, Exceeds thy 'pointed hour;—remember Laius! No more; if e'er we meet again, 'twill be In mutual darkness; we shall feel before us To reach each other's hand;—remember Laius! [Exit TIRESIAS: Priests follow.

OEDIPUS solus.

Remember Laius! that's the burden still: Murther and incest! but to hear them named My soul starts in me: The good sentinel Stands to her weapons, takes the first alarm To guard me from such crimes.—Did I kill Laius? Then I walked sleeping, in some frightful dream; My soul then stole my body out by night; And brought me back to bed ere morning-wake It cannot be even this remotest way, But some dark hint would justle forward now, And goad my memory.—Oh my Jocasta!

Enter JOCASTA.

Joc. Why are you thus disturbed?

OEdip. Why, would'st thou think it? No less than murder.

Joc. Murder! what of murder?

OEdip. Is murder then no more? add parricide, And incest; bear not these a frightful sound?

Joc. Alas!

OEdip. How poor a pity is alas, For two such crimes!—was Laius us'd to lie?

Joc. Oh no: The most sincere, plain, honest man; One who abhorred a lie.

OEdip. Then he has got that quality in hell. He charges me—but why accuse I him? I did not hear him speak it: They accuse me,— The priest, Adrastus and Eurydice,— Of murdering Laius!—Tell me, while I think on't, Has old Tiresias practised long this trade?

Joc. What trade?

OEdip. Why, this foretelling trade.

Joc. For many years.

OEdip. Has he before this day accused me?

Joc. Never.

OEdip. Have you ere this inquired who did this murder?

Joc. Often; but still in vain.

OEdip. I am satisfied. Then 'tis an infant-lye; but one day old. The oracle takes place before the priest; The blood of Laius was to murder Laius: I'm not of Laius' blood.

Joc. Even oracles Are always doubtful, and are often forged: Laius had one, which never was fulfilled, Nor ever can be now.

OEdip. And what foretold it?

Joc. That he should have a son by me, foredoomed The murderer of his father: True, indeed, A son was born; but, to prevent that crime, The wretched infant of a guilty fate, Bored through his untried feet, and bound with cords, On a bleak mountain naked was exposed: The king himself lived many, many years, And found a different fate; by robbers murdered, Where three ways met: Yet these are oracles, And this the faith we owe them.

OEdip. Sayest thou, woman? By heaven, thou hast awakened somewhat in me, That shakes my very soul!

Joc. What new disturbance?

OEdip. Methought thou said'st—(or do I dream thou said'st it!) This murder was on Laius' person done, Where three ways meet?

Joc. So common fame reports.

OEdip. Would it had lied!

Joc. Why, good my lord?

OEdip. No questions. 'Tis busy time with me; despatch mine first; Say where, where was it done!

Joc. Mean you the murder?

OEdip. Could'st thou not answer without naming murder?

Joc. They say in Phocide; on the verge that parts it From Daulia, and from Delphos.

OEdip. So!—How long? when happened this?

Joc. Some little time before you came to Thebes.

OEdip. What will the gods do with me!

Joc. What means that thought?

OEdip. Something: But 'tis not yet your turn to ask: How old was Laius, what his shape, his stature, His action, and his mien? quick, quick, your answer!—

Joc. Big made he was, and tall: His port was fierce, Erect his countenance: Manly majesty Sate in his front, and darted from his eyes, Commanding all he viewed: His hair just grizzled, As in a green old age: Bate but his years, You are his picture.

OEdip. [Aside.] Pray heaven he drew me not!— Am I his picture?

Joc. So I have often told you.

OEdip. True, you have; Add that unto the rest:—How was the king Attended, when he travelled?

Joc. By four servants: He went out private.

OEdip. Well counted still:— One 'scaped, I hear; what since became of him?

Joc. When he beheld you first, as king in Thebes, He kneeled, and trembling begged I would dismiss him: He had my leave; and now he lives retired.

OEdip. This man must be produced: he must, Jocasta.

Joc. He shall—yet have I leave to ask you why?

OEdip. Yes, you shall know: For where should I repose The anguish of my soul, but in your breast! I need not tell you Corinth claims my birth; My parents, Polybus and Merope, Two royal names; their only child am I. It happened once,—'twas at a bridal feast,— One, warm with wine, told me I was a foundling, Not the king's son; I, stung with this reproach, Struck him: My father heard of it: The man Was made ask pardon; and the business hushed.

Joc. 'Twas somewhat odd.

OEdip. And strangely it perplexed me. I stole away to Delphos, and implored The god, to tell my certain parentage. He bade me seek no farther:—'Twas my fate To kill my father, and pollute his bed, By marrying her who bore me.

Joc. Vain, vain oracles!

OEdip. But yet they frighted me; I looked on Corinth as a place accurst, Resolved my destiny should wait in vain, And never catch me there.

Joc. Too nice a fear.

OEdip. Suspend your thoughts; and flatter not too soon. Just in the place you named, where three ways met. And near that time, five persons I encountered; One was too like, (heaven grant it prove not him!) Whom you describe for Laius: insolent, And fierce they were, as men who lived on spoil. I judged them robbers, and by force repelled The force they used: In short, four men I slew: The fifth upon his knees demanding life, My mercy gave it;—Bring me comfort now. If I slew Laius, what can be more wretched! From Thebes, and you, my curse has banished me: From Corinth, fate.

Joc. Perplex not thus your mind. My husband fell by multitudes opprest; So Phorbas said: This band you chanced to meet: And murdered not my Laius, but revenged him.

OEdip. There's all my hope: Let Phorbas tell me this, And I shall live again.— To you, good gods, I make my last appeal; Or clear my virtue, or my crime reveal: If wandering in the maze of fate I run, And backward trod the paths I sought to shun, Impute my errors to your own decree; My hands are guilty, but my heart is free. [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Enter PYRACMON and CREON.

Pyr. Some business of import, that triumph wears, You seem to go with; nor is it hard to guess When you are pleased, by a malicious joy, Whose red and fiery beams cast through your visage A glowing pleasure. Sure you smile revenge, And I could gladly hear.

Cre. Would'st thou believe! This giddy hair-brained king, whom old Tiresias Has thunder-struck with heavy accusation, Though conscious of no inward guilt, yet fears: He fears Jocasta, fears himself, his shadow; He fears the multitude; and,—which is worth An age of laughter,—out of all mankind, He chuses me to be his orator; Swears that Adrastus, and the lean-looked prophet[10], Are joint conspirators; and wished me to Appease the raving Thebans; which I swore To do.

Pyr. A dangerous undertaking; Directly opposite to your own interest.

Cre. No, dull Pyracmon; when I left his presence With all the wings, with which revenge could aid My flight, I gained the midst o'the city; There, standing on a pile of dead and dying, I to the mad and sickly multitude, With interrupting sobs, cry'd out,—O Thebes! O wretched Thebes, thy king, thy OEdipus, This barbarous stranger, this usurper, monster, Is by the oracle, the wise Tiresias, Proclaimed the murderer of thy royal Laius: Jocasta too, no longer now my sister, Is found complotter in the horrid deed. Here I renounce all tie of blood and nature, For thee, O Thebes, dear Thebes, poor bleeding Thebes!— And there I wept, and then the rabble howled. And roared, and with a thousand antic mouths Gabbled revenge! revenge was all the cry.