Oedipus.

Oh, let him go, though it be utterly

My death, or flight from Thebes in beggary.

’Tis thy sad lips, not his, that make me know

Pity. Him I shall hate, where’er he go.

Creon.

I see thy mercy moving full of hate

And slow; thy wrath came swift and desperate.

Methinks, of all the pain that such a heart

Spreadeth, itself doth bear the bitterest part.

Oedipus.

Oh, leave me and begone!

Creon.

I go, wronged sore

By thee. These friends will trust me as before.

[Creon goes. Oedipus stands apart lost in trouble of mind.

Leader.

[Antistrophe.

Queen, wilt thou lead him to his house again?

Jocasta.

I will, when I have heard.

Leader.

There fell some word, some blind imagining

Between them. Things known foolish yet can sting.

Jocasta.

From both the twain it rose?

Leader.

From both the twain.

Jocasta.

Aye, and what was the word?

Leader.

Surely there is enough of evil stirred,

And Thebes heaves on the swell

Of storm.—Oh, leave this lying where it fell.

Oedipus.

So be it, thou wise counsellor! Make slight

My wrong, and blunt my purpose ere it smite.

Leader.

O King, not once I have answered. Visibly

Mad were I, lost to all wise usages,

To seek to cast thee from us. ’Twas from thee

We saw of old blue sky and summer seas,

When Thebes in the storm and rain

Reeled, like to die.

Oh, if thou canst, again

Blue sky, blue sky …!

Jocasta.

Husband, in God’s name, say what hath ensued7

Of ill, that thou shouldst seek so dire a feud.

Oedipus.

I will, wife. I have more regard for thee

Than these.—Thy brother plots to murder me.

Jocasta.

Speak on. Make all thy charge. Only be clear.

Oedipus.

He says that I am Laïus’ murderer.

Jocasta.

Says it himself? Says he hath witnesses?

Oedipus.

Nay, of himself he ventures nothing. ’Tis

This priest, this hellish seer, makes all the tale.

Jocasta.

The seer?—Then tear thy terrors like a veil

And take free breath. A seer? No human thing

Born on the earth hath power for conjuring

Truth from the dark of God.

Come, I will tell

An old tale. There came once an oracle

To Laïus: I say not from the God

Himself, but from the priests and seers who trod

His sanctuary: if ever son were bred

From him and me, by that son’s hand, it said,

Laïus must die. And he, the tale yet stays

Among us, at the crossing of three ways

Was slain by robbers, strangers. And my son—

God’s mercy!—scarcely the third day was gone

When Laïus took, and by another’s hand8

Out on the desert mountain, where the land

Is rock, cast him to die. Through both his feet

A blade of iron they drove. Thus did we cheat

Apollo of his will. My child could slay

No father, and the King could cast away

The fear that dogged him, by his child to die

Murdered.—Behold the fruits of prophecy!

Which heed not thou! God needs not that a seer

Help him, when he would make his dark things clear.