University of Virginia Library

THE THIRDE SCENE.

Phorbas. Senex. OEdipus.
[Phorbas.]
Sometime a charge of sheepe I had, vnworthy though I weer.
And did vpon those bills chiefe rule on other Shepards beare.

SE.
Knowst thou not me.

PH.
I cannot tell.

OE.
Didst thou once geue this man
A Childe. Speake out, why dost thou stay? if so, declare it than.
Why dost thou blush and doubting stand, troth seeketh no delay?

PH.
Things out of minde you call agayne, almost quight worne away.

OE.
Confesse thou slaue, or els I sweare, thou shal constrayned bee

PH.
In deede I doe remembre once, an Infant yong by mee,
Delyuered was vnto this Man: but well I wot in vayne,
I know he could not long endure, nor yet alyue remayne.
Long since he is dead (I know it well) hee liues not at this day.

SE.
No? God forbid, he liues no doubt, and long may liue I pray.

OE.
Why dost thou say the child is dead, that thou this man didst giue?

PH.
With Irons sharp his feete were board, I know he could not liue,
For of the sore a swelling rose, I saw the bloud to gush
From out of both the wounds: and down by powring streames to flush.

SEN.
Now stay (O king) no farther now, you know almost the troth.

OE.
Whose child was it? tell me forth wt.

PH.
I dare not for mine Othe.

OE.
Thine Oth thou slaue? Some fyre here. Ile charme thine Othe and thee,
With fyre & flames: except forthwith thou tell the troth to mee.

PH
O pardon me, though rude. I seeme, I seeke not to withstand
Your graces minde: (most noble king.) My life is in your hand.

OED.
Tell me ye troth, what child, & whose, What was his Mothers name?

P.
Born of your wyfe.

OE.
O gaping earth deuour my body quight:
Or else thou God that ruler art of houses voyde of light,
To Hell my Soule with thunder boltes to Hell my Soule down dryue.
Where griesly Ghosts in darkenesse deepe, and endlesse payne do lyue.
For thee alone, these Plagues doe rage. For thee these mischiefes ryse.
For thee, the Earth lyes desolate. For thee thou wretch the Skies
Infected are. For thee, for thee, and for thy filthy lust,
A hundred thousand guiltlesse men, consumed are to dust.
O people throw: cast heapes of stones vpon this hatefull Hed:
Bath all your swords within my brest: you furies ouershed
My restlesse thoughts, with raging woes: and plungde in seas of pain.
Let mee those horrors still endure, which damned soules sustain.
You citizens of Stately Thebes vex me with torments due.
Let Father, Son, and Wyfe, and all with vengeance me pursue.
Let those that for my sake alone with plagues tormented bee
Throw darts, cast stones, fling fier and flames, and tortures all on mee.
O shame: O slaunder of the World: O hate of Gods aboue.
Confounder O of Nature thou to lawes of sacred loue,
Euen from thy birth an open Foe. Thou didst deserue to dye
As soone as thou wast born. Go, go, vnto the Court thee hye,
There with thy Mother (slaue) triumph reioyce as thou maist do.
Who hast thy house encreased with vnhappy children so.
Make haste with speede, away, some thing thy mischiefs worthy finde.
And on thy selfe wrecke all the spight of thy reuenging minde.

Chorus.

Fortune the guide of humaine lyfe doth al things chaūge at will.
And stirrīg stil, wt restles thoughts our wretched mīds doth fill.
In vayn men striue their stats to kepe whē hideous tēpests rise:
And blustring windes of daungers deepe sets death before their eyis.
Who saith he doth her fauning feele? & chaūgeth not his minde,
When fickle fight of Fortunes wheele doth turne by course of kinde.
These greuous plagues frō priuat house to princely Thrones do flow,
And oft their minds with cares they souse and thick vpon thē strow.
Whole heapes of griefe and dyre debate, a wofull thing to see:
A Princely lyfe to mysers state, conuerted for to bee.
O OEdipus thy fatall fall, thy dreadfull mischiefs ryght.
Thy dolfull state, thy mysery, thy thrise vnhappy plight:
These things shall blase through all ye world: what heart may thē reioyce
At thy distresse? I can no more: my teares doe stop my voyce.
But what is he that yonder stamps? and raging puffs and blowes,
And often shakes his vexed head, some mischiefe great hee knowes.
Good sir your countnaunce doth import some great and fearefull thing,
Tell vs therefore (if that you may) what newes from Court you bring.