University of Virginia Library

THE SECOND SCENE.

OEdipus. Chorus, Iocasta.
[Oed.]
Well , well, tis done: more yet? No, no, no mischiefs more remaynes.
My Fathers Rytes performed are. What God on Mysers paynes
That rues within this Cloud hath rolde, and wrapt my wretched Pate.
Ah sir: this is a life alone. This is a happy State.
This is a case ene fit for thee, for thee thou wretch, for thee.
From whose accursed sight the Sun, the Stars and all doe flee.
Yet mischiefs more, who giues to doe? The dreadfull day I haue
Escapt. Thou filthy Paracide: thou vile mischieuous Slaue.
Unto thy right hand nought thou owst, all things performed bee.
O woe is mee that euer I liu'de this lucklesse day to see.
Where am I now? Alas, alas, the light and all doth mee
Abhor: O wretched OEdipus this looke is first for thee.

CHO.
See, see, where Iocasta coms, with fierce and furious moode,
Quight past her selfe. For very rage shee frets and waxeth woode.
Much like to Cadmus daughter mad, who late hir Sonne did kill.
Fayne would she speake her mynde: for feare (alas) she dares not: still
Shee stayes, and yet from out her breast these ills haue quight exilde
All shamefastnes. See how shee lookes, with coūt'naunce fierce & wilde.

IO.
Fayne would I speake, I am afraide. For what should I thee call
My Son? doubt not. Thou art my Son. My Son thou art for all
These mischiefs great: alas, alas I shame my Son to see.
O cruell Son. Where dost thou turn thy Face? Why dost thou flee
From me. From me thy Mother deare? Why dost thou shun my sight?
And leaue me thus in misery, with Cares consumed quight.

OE.
Who troubles me? Let me alone. I thought not to be founde:
Who now restores myne Eyes to mee, Mother? or Mothers sounde?
Our labour all is spent in vayne, now may wee meete no more.
The Seas deuide those meetings vile that wee haue had before.
The gaping earth deuide vs both, th'one from th'other quight.
Still let our feete repugnant bee. So shall I shun the light
That most of all me grieues. So shall I space obtaine to wayle
These bleeding woes on euery side, that doe my thoughtes assayle.

IOC.
The Destenies are in fault. Blame them. Alas, alas, not wee.

OED.
Spare now. Leaue of to speake in vayne, spare now O Mother mee,
By these Reliques of my dismembred body I thee pray.
By myne vnhappy Children pledges left. What shall I say?
By all the Gods I thee beseech. By all that in my name
Is good or bad, let mee alone. Alas you are to blame
To trouble mee. You see what hell my haplesse heart doth payne.
You see that in my Conscience ten thousand horrors raine.

IOC.
O dying heart: O sindrownd soule. Why dost thou faint alas?
Why dost thou seeke and toyle in vayne these ills to ouerpas?
What meane these sighes, & scalding teares? why dost thou death refuse?
Thou mate of all his mischiefs thou, by whose meanes onely rues
The law of nature all: by whom, Ah, Ah, confounded lies,
Both God, and man, and beast, and all that eyther liues or dies.
Die thou, dispatch at once thrust through thy vile incestuous brest:
Thou hast none other meanes (alas) to set thine heart at rest.
Not thou, if God him selfe, if he his flaming fiers should throw
On thee, or mischiefs all by heapes vpon thy body strow
Couldst once for thy deserued ills due paines or vengeaunce pay:
Some meanes therefore to wreak Gods wrath vpon thy selfe assay.
Death, death now best contenteth mee, then seeke a way to dye.
So maist thou yet at length finde end for all thy misery.
O Son lend mee thy hand: sith that thou art a Paracyde.
This labour last of all remaynes, this labour thee doth byde.
Dispatch rid mee thy mother deare from all my deadly woe
It will not be: no prayers auaile. Thy selfe this deede must doe.
Take vp this sword. Goe to, with this thy husbande late was slayne.
Husband? thou term'st him false: hee was thy syer: O deadly payne.
Shal I quight through my brest it driue? or through my throte it thrust?
Canst thou not choose thy wound? away: die, die, (alas) thou must.
This hateful womb then woūd (O wretch) this, this wt thine own hand
Strike, strike it hard: (O spare it not) sith both a husband, and
(The same a Son it bare.)

CHOR.
Alas, alas, shee is slaine, she is slayne, dispatched with a push:
Who euer sawe the like to this: see how the bloud doth gush.
O heauy doulfull case: who can this dyrefull sight enduer
Which for the hideousnesse thereof might teares of stones procuer.

OED.
Thou God, thou teller out of Fates. On thee, on thee, I call,
My Father onely I did owe, vnto the Destnies all.
Now twise a Paracide, and worse than I did feare to bee:
My Mother I haue slayne. (Alas) the fault is all in mee.
O OEdipus accursed wretch, lament thine owne Calamity,
Lament thy state, thy griefe lament, thou Caitife borne to misery.
Where wilt thou now become (alas?) thy Face where wilt thou hyde:
O myserable Slaue, canst thou such shamefull tormentes byde?
Canst thou which hast thy Parents slain? Canst thou prolong thy life?
Wilt thou not dye? deseruing Death: thou cause of all the griefe,
And Plagues, and dreadfull mischiefs all that Thebane City prease.
Why dost thou seeke by longer life, thy sorrowes to encrease?
Why dost thou toyle and labour thus in vayne? It will not bee.
Both God, and man: and beast, and all abhorre thy Face to see.
O Earth why gapst thou not for me? why doe you not vnfolde
You gates of hell mee to receaue? why doe you hence withholde?
The fierce Infernall Feends from me, from me so wretched wight?
Why breake not all the Furyes lose this hatefull head to smight
With Plagues? which them deserued hath (alas) I am left alone,
Both light, and sight, and comfort all from mee (O wretch) is gone.
O cursed head: O wicked wight, whom all men deadly hate.
O Beast, what meanst thou still to liue in this vnhappy state?
The Skies doe blush and are ashamd, at these thy mischiefes great
The Earth laments, ye Heauens weepe, the Seas for rage doe freat.
And blustring rise, and stormes doe stir, and all thou wretch for thee.
By whose incest, and bloudy deedes all things disturbed bee.
Quight out of course, displaced quight, O cursed fatall day.
O mischiefes great, O dreadfull times, O wretch, away, away.
Exile thy selfe from all mens sight, thy life halfe spent in misery,
Goe end consume it now outright in thrise as great calamity.
O lying Phœbe thine Oracles my sin, and shame surmount:
My Mothers death amongst my deedes, thou neuer didst recount.
A meete Exploict for me that am to Nature deadly Foe.
With trembling fearefull pace goe forth, thou wretched monster goe,
Grope out thy wayes on knees in darke thou miserable Slaue.
So maist thou yet in tract of time due paynes, and vengeaunce haue,
For thy mischeuous lyfe. Thus, thus, the Gods themselues decree.
Thus, thus, thy Fates: thus, thus, the skyes appoint it for to bee.
Then headlong hence, with a mischiefe hence, thou caitife vyle away.
Away, away, thou monstrous Beast. Goe, Run. Stand, stay,
Least on thy Mother thou doe fall.

All you that wearyed bodies haue, with sickenesse ouerprest.
Loe, now I fly: I fly away, the cause of your vnrest.
Lift vp your heads: a better state of Ayre shall strayght ensewe
Whan I am gone: for whom alone, these dreadfull myschiefs grewe.
And you that now, halfe dead yet liue in wretched misers case.
Help those whō present torments presse forth, hye you on apace.
For loe, with me I cary hence, all mischiefes vnder Skyes.
All cruell Fates, Diseases all that for my sake did ryse,
With mee they goe: with me both griefe, Plague, Pocks, Botch, & all
The ills that eyther now you presse, or euer after shall.
With me they goe, with me: these Mates bin meetst of all for mee.
Who am the most vnhappiest wretch that euer Sun did see.