Oedipus
Thou blind and impious traitor !
Thy darkness is thy safeguard, or this hour
Tie. It is not in my fate
To fall by thee. Apollo guards his priest.
Tie. Creon is guiltless, and the crime is thine.
Above them all, the best of human blessings,
Excelling wisdom, how doth envy love
To follow and oppress you ! This fair kingdom,
Which by the nation's choice, and not my own,
I here possess, Creon, my faithful friend.
For such I thought him once, would now wrest from me.
And hath suborned this vile impostor here.
This wandering hypocrite, of sharpest sight
When interest prompts, but ignorant and blind
When fools consult him. Tell me, prophet, where
Was all thy art when the abhorred Sphynx
Alarmed our city 1 Wherefore did not then
Thy wisdom save us? Then the man divine
Was wanting. But thy birds refused their omens,
Thy god was silent. Then came (Edipus,
This poor, unlearned, uninstructed sage ;
Who not from birds uncertain omens drew,
But by his own sagacious mind explored
The hidden mystery. And now thou com'st
To cast me from the throne my wisdom gained,
And share with Creon my divided empire.
But you should both lament your ill-got power,
You and your bold compeer. For thee, this moment.
But that I bear respect unto thy age,
I'd make thee rue thy execrable purpose.
CiiOR. You both are angry, tlierefore both to blame ;
Much rather should you join, witli friendly zeal
And mutual ardour, to explore the will
Till. What though thou lul'st
O'er Thebes despotic, we are equal here :
I am Apollo's subj(>ct, and not thine,
I^or w'Awi J C^-eon to protect me. No ;
I tell thee, king, this blind Tiresias tells thee,
Seeing thou seest not, knowst not where thou art,
What, or with whom. Canst thou inform me who
Thy parents are, and what thy horrid crimes
'Gainst thy own race, the living and the dead ?
A father's and a mother's curse attend thee ;
Soon shall their furies drive thee from the land,
And leave thee dark like me. Whnt mountain then,
Or conscious shore, shall not return the groans
Of Ql^dipus, and echo to his woes ?
When thou shalt look on the detested bed,
And in that haven where thou hop'st to rest,
Shalt meet with storm and tempest, then what ills
Shall fall on thee and thine ! Now vent thy rage
On old Tiresias and the guiltless Creon ;
We shall be soon avenged, for ne'er did Heaven
Cut off a wTetch so base, so vile as thou art.
