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Oedipus
911
Thou art, and I will tell thee ;
Thou art my hope — to whom should I impart
My sorrows, but to thee? Know then, Jocasta,
I am the son of Polybus, who reigns
At Corinth, and the Dorian Merope
His queen ; there long I held the foremost rank,
Honoured and happy, when a strange event
The deep concern I felt) alarmed me much :
A drunken reveller at a feast proclaimed
That I was only the supposed son
Of Corinth's king. Scarce could I bear that day
The vile reproach. The next, I sought my parents
And asked of them the truth ; they too, enraged,
Resented much the base indignity.
I liked their tender warmth, but still I felt
915
A secret anguish, and, unknown to them,
915
Sought out the Pythian oracle. In vain.
915
Touching my parents nothing could I learn ;
But dreadful were the miseries it denounced
Against me. 'Twas my fate, Apollo said,
To wed my mother, to produce a race
Accursed and abhorred ; and last, to slay
My father who begat me. Sad decree !
Lest I should e'er fulfil the dire prediction,
Instant I fled from Corinth, by the stars
Guiding my hapless journey to the place
Where thou report'st this wretched king was slain.
But I will tell thee the whole truth. At length
came to where the three ways meet, when, lo!
I A herald, with another man hke him
! Wliom thou describst, and in a cliariot, met me.
Both strove with violence to drive me back ;
920
Enraged, I struck the charioteer, when straight.
920
As I advanced, the old man saw, and twice
920
Smote me o' th' head, but dearly soon repaid
The insult on me ; from his chariot rolled
Prone on the earth, beneath my staff he fell,
And instantly expired ! Th' attendant train
All shared his fate. If this unhappy stranger
And Laius be the same, lives there a wretch
So cursed, so hateful to the gods as I am ?
Nor citizen nor alien must receive,
Or converse, or communion hold with me,
But drive me forth with infamy and shame.
The dreadful curse pronounced with my own lips
Shall soon o'ertake me. I have stained the bed
Of him whom I had murdered ; am I then
Aught but pollution ? If I fly from hence,
The bed of incest meets me, and I go
925
Tc sby m^ father Polybus, the best,
925
The tenderest parent. This must bo. the work
925
Of some malignant power. Ye righteous gods !
^Let me not seejbhatdaj'-, but rest in death,
Bather than su'ffer such calamity.
Thou art, and I will tell thee ;
Thou art my hope — to whom should I impart
My sorrows, but to thee? Know then, Jocasta,
I am the son of Polybus, who reigns
At Corinth, and the Dorian Merope
His queen ; there long I held the foremost rank,
Honoured and happy, when a strange event
The deep concern I felt) alarmed me much :
A drunken reveller at a feast proclaimed
That I was only the supposed son
Of Corinth's king. Scarce could I bear that day
The vile reproach. The next, I sought my parents
And asked of them the truth ; they too, enraged,
Resented much the base indignity.
I liked their tender warmth, but still I felt
915
A secret anguish, and, unknown to them,
915
Sought out the Pythian oracle. In vain.
915
Touching my parents nothing could I learn ;
But dreadful were the miseries it denounced
Against me. 'Twas my fate, Apollo said,
To wed my mother, to produce a race
Accursed and abhorred ; and last, to slay
My father who begat me. Sad decree !
Lest I should e'er fulfil the dire prediction,
Instant I fled from Corinth, by the stars
Guiding my hapless journey to the place
Where thou report'st this wretched king was slain.
But I will tell thee the whole truth. At length
came to where the three ways meet, when, lo!
I A herald, with another man hke him
! Wliom thou describst, and in a cliariot, met me.
Both strove with violence to drive me back ;
920
Enraged, I struck the charioteer, when straight.
920
As I advanced, the old man saw, and twice
920
Smote me o' th' head, but dearly soon repaid
The insult on me ; from his chariot rolled
Prone on the earth, beneath my staff he fell,
And instantly expired ! Th' attendant train
All shared his fate. If this unhappy stranger
And Laius be the same, lives there a wretch
So cursed, so hateful to the gods as I am ?
Nor citizen nor alien must receive,
Or converse, or communion hold with me,
But drive me forth with infamy and shame.
The dreadful curse pronounced with my own lips
Shall soon o'ertake me. I have stained the bed
Of him whom I had murdered ; am I then
Aught but pollution ? If I fly from hence,
The bed of incest meets me, and I go
925
Tc sby m^ father Polybus, the best,
925
The tenderest parent. This must bo. the work
925
Of some malignant power. Ye righteous gods !
^Let me not seejbhatdaj'-, but rest in death,
Bather than su'ffer such calamity.
Oedipus Tyrannus. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.