Sophocles, Oedipus Tyrannus, Robert Potter (Translator), 146

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Creon

I go,

To thee perchance not known; but still by these,

Just to my innocence, in honour held.

Oedipus Tyrannus. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.

Current edition Experimental

English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) (English) (English (Robert Potter, 1788))

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (2)

Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879)) — 146 focus

σὺν τῷ θεῷ φανούμεθ', ἢ πεπτωκότες.

[35 a.

Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 151-215 focus

Χορός

ὦ Διὸς ἁδυεπὲς φάτι, τίς ποτε τᾶς πολυχρύσου

Πυθῶνος ἀγλαὰς ἔβας

Θήβας; ἐκτέταμαι φοβερὰν φρένα, δείματι πάλλων,

ἰήιε Δάλιε Παιάν,

ἀμφὶ σοὶ ἁζόμενος τί μοι ἢ νέον
155

ἢ περιτελλομέναις ὥραις πάλιν ἐξανύσεις χρέος.

εἰπέ μοι, ὦ χρυσέας τέκνον Ἐλπίδος, ἄμβροτε Φάμα.

159

Χορός

πρῶτα σὲ κεκλόμενος, θύγατερ Διός, ἄμβροτʼ Ἀθάνα
160

γαιάοχόν τʼ ἀδελφεὰν

Ἄρτεμιν, ἃ κυκλόεντʼ ἀγορᾶς θρόνον εὐκλέα θάσσει,

καὶ Φοῖβον ἑκαβόλον, ἰὼ

τρισσοὶ ἀλεξίμοροι προφάνητέ μοι,

εἴ ποτε καὶ προτέρας ἄτας ὕπερ ὀρνυμένας πόλει
165

ἠνύσατʼ ἐκτοπίαν φλόγα πήματος, ἔλθετε καὶ νῦν.

169

Χορός

ὦ πόποι, ἀνάριθμα γὰρ φέρω

πήματα· νοσεῖ δέ μοι πρόπας στόλος, οὐδʼ ἔνι φροντίδος ἔγχος
170

ᾧ τις ἀλέξεται. οὔτε γὰρ ἔκγονα

κλυτᾶς χθονὸς αὔξεται οὔτε τόκοισιν

ἰηίων καμάτων ἀνέχουσι γυναῖκες·

ἄλλον δʼ ἂν ἄλλῳ προσίδοις ἅπερ εὔπτερον ὄρνιν
175

κρεῖσσον ἀμαιμακέτου πυρὸς ὄρμενον

ἀκτὰν πρὸς ἑσπέρου θεοῦ.

179

Χορός

ὧν πόλις ἀνάριθμος ὄλλυται·

νηλέα δὲ γένεθλα πρὸς πέδῳ θαναταφόρα κεῖται ἀνοίκτως·
180

ἐν δʼ ἄλοχοι πολιαί τʼ ἔπι ματέρες

ἀχὰν παραβώμιον ἄλλοθεν ἄλλαν

λυγρῶν πόνων ἱκετῆρες ἐπιστενάχουσιν.

παιὰν δὲ λάμπει στονόεσσά τε γῆρυς ὅμαυλος
185

ὧν ὕπερ, ὦ χρυσέα θύγατερ Διός,

εὐῶπα πέμψον ἀλκάν.

190

Χορός

Ἄρεά τε τὸν μαλερόν, ὃς νῦν ἄχαλκος ἀσπίδων
190

φλέγει με περιβόατον, ἀντιάζω

παλίσσυτον δράμημα νωτίσαι πάτρας

ἔπουρον, εἴτʼ ἐς μέγαν θάλαμον Ἀμφιτρίτας

εἴτʼ ἐς τὸν ἀπόξενον ὅρμων
195

Θρῄκιον κλύδωνα·

τελεῖν γὰρ εἴ τι νὺξ ἀφῇ,

τοῦτʼ ἐπʼ ἦμαρ ἔρχεται·

τόν, ὦ τᾶν πυρφόρων

ἀστραπᾶν κράτη νέμων,
200

ὦ Ζεῦ πάτερ, ὑπὸ σῷ φθίσον κεραυνῷ,

203

Χορός

Λύκειʼ ἄναξ, τά τε σὰ χρυσοστρόφων ἀπʼ ἀγκυλᾶν

βέλεα θέλοιμʼ ἂν ἀδάματʼ ἐνδατεῖσθαι

ἀρωγὰ προσταχθέντα τάς τε πυρφόρους
205

Ἀρτέμιδος αἴγλας, ξὺν αἷς Λύκιʼ ὄρεα διᾴσσει·

τὸν χρυσομίτραν τε κικλήσκω,

τᾶσδʼ ἐπώνυμον γᾶς,
210

οἰνῶπα Βάκχον εὔιον,

Μαινάδων ὁμόστολον,

πελασθῆναι φλέγοντʼ

ἀγλαῶπι ¯ ˘ ¯

πεύκᾳ ʼπὶ τὸν ἀπότιμον ἐν θεοῖς θεόν.
215

Translations (4)

English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 146 focus

CR

What would you then? To thrust me from the land?

German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 151 focus

Liebliche Stimme des Zeus, wie lautest du, kommend von Pytho's¹²³

Goldreichem Haus zur heitern Burg

Thebä's? Bangend erstarr' ich im Geist und erzittre vor Schrecken,

Heilschaffender, Delier, Päan!⁴

Ahnend erbebt mir das Herz, was heute du,
155

Oder in rollender Jahr' Umlaufe mir

Künftig enthüllen wirst.

Sag' es, der Hoffnung Tochter, der goldenen, himmlische Stimme!⁵

Erste Gegenstrophe.

English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759)) — 146 focus

Chorus

Ask me no more ;

Enough 's already known ; we '11 not repeat
690

The woes of hapless Thebes.

. CEdi. You are all blind,

Insensible, unjust; you love me not,
695

Yet boast your piety.

English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 151-215 focus

The chorus of Theban elders enters.

Chorus

O sweetly-speaking message of Zeus, in what spirit have you come to glorious Thebes from golden Pytho ? I am on the rack, terror shakes my soul, O Delian healer to whom wild cries rise,

in holy fear of you, wondering what debt you will extract from me, perhaps unknown before, perhaps renewed with the revolving years. Tell me, immortal Voice, child of golden Hope.
155

159

Chorus

First I call on you, daughter of Zeus, immortal Athena,

and on your sister, Artemis, guardian of our earth, who sits on her glorious throne above the circle of our market-place, and on far-shooting Apollo: oh shine forth for me, my three-fold help against death!
160

If ever before you drove a fiery pest from our borders to stop ruin rushing upon our city, come now also!
165

169

Chorus

Alas, countless are the sorrows I bear.

A plague is on all our people, and thought can find no weapon for defense. The fruits of the glorious earth do not grow; by no birth of offspring do women surmount the pangs in which they shriek.
170

You can see life after life speed away, like a bird on the wing, swifter than irresistible fire, to the shore of the western god.
175

179

Chorus

With such deaths, past numbering, the city perishes.

Unpitied, her children lie on the ground, spreading pestilence, with no one to mourn them. Meanwhile young wives and grey-haired mothers raise a wail at the steps of the altars, some here, some there,
180

and groan in supplication for their terrible woes. The prayers to the Healer ring clear, and with them the voice of lamentation. For which things, golden daughter of Zeus, send us the bright face of comfort.
185

190

Chorus

Grant that the fierce god of death, who now without the bronze of shields, though among cries like those of battle, wraps me in the flames of his onset, may turn his back in speedy flight from our land, borne by a favorable wind to the great chamber of Amphitrite,
190

or to the Thracian waves, those waters where none find haven. For if night leaves anything undone in the working of destruction, day follows to accomplish it. You who wield the
195

powers of fiery lightning, Zeus our father, slay him beneath your thunder-bolt.
200

203

Chorus

Lycean Lord, would that the shafts from your bent bow’s string of woven gold might

go forth in their might, our champions in the face of the foe, and the flashing fires of Artemis too, with which she darts through the Lycian hills. I call him whose locks are bound with gold,
205

who is named with the name of this land, ruddy Bacchus to whom Bacchants cry, to draw near with the blaze of his shining torch,
210

our ally against the god unhonored among the gods.
215

Commentary

Commentary (R. C. Jebb) (OCR draft) (Commentary (R. C. Jebb))

mvp-comment-421-1 ἀγνῶτος ¹

mvp-comment-421-2 ἐν δὲ τοῖσδ’ ἴσος· ἐν ²

mvp-comment-421-3 ἴσος ³

mvp-comment-422-1 Creon leaves the scene. The Chorus wish Iocasta to withdraw Oedipus also, that he may be soothed in the house: but she wishes first to learn how the dispute began.

Commentary (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) (Commentary (Lewis Campbell, 1879)) focus

677. mvp-comment-394-1 ἀγνῶτος Without discernment. ἐν τοῖσδε] In their minds. Cp. Ant. 459, ἐν θεοῖσι τὴν δίκην δώσειν: ib. 925, εἰ τάδ᾽ ἐστὶν ἐν θεοῖς καλά.

677. mvp-comment-394-2 ἴσος Either (1) just (cp. Phil. 685, ἴσος ἔν γ᾽ ἴσοις ἀνήρ), or (2) ‘'as I was before,' = ἴσος καὶ πρὸ τοῦ, cp. supr. 53, ἴσος γενοῦ. (2) is best.

Sophocles Oedipus Tyrannus 146

Robert Potter (Translator)

Search the Perseus Catalog for:

Creon

I go,

To thee perchance not known; but still by these,

Just to my innocence, in honour held.

Current edition Experimental

CR

What would you then? To thrust me from the land?

Chorus

Ask me no more ;

Enough 's already known ; we '11 not repeat
690

The woes of hapless Thebes.

. CEdi. You are all blind,

Insensible, unjust; you love me not,
695

Yet boast your piety.

Commentary

Stable identifiers

Search the Perseus Catalog for:

Search the Perseus Catalog for:

Creon I go, To thee perchance not known; but still by these, Just to my innocence, in honour held.

Current edition Experimental

CR What would you then? To thrust me from the land?

Chorus Ask me no more ; Enough 's already known ; we '11 not repeat 690 The woes of hapless Thebes. . CEdi. You are all blind, Insensible, unjust; you love me not, 695 Yet boast your piety.

Commentary

Stable identifiers

Creon

I go,

To thee perchance not known; but still by these,

Just to my innocence, in honour held.

CR

What would you then? To thrust me from the land?

Chorus

Ask me no more ;

Enough 's already known ; we '11 not repeat
690

The woes of hapless Thebes.

. CEdi. You are all blind,

Insensible, unjust; you love me not,
695

Yet boast your piety.