Oedipus
This was the work of Phœbus: O my friends,
Phœbus accomplish'd all my ills, my woes.
With his own hands no man e'er rent his eyes,
But I unhappy. Why should I have sight,
Since, had I eyes, nought pleasant could I see ?
Oedipus Tyrannus. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.