Oedipus A Tragedy |
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| 1. | SCENE I. |
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 | Oedipus |  |
SCENE I.
JOCASTA, EGINA, ARASPES, CHORUS.ARASPES.
Yes, all this death-doom'd people speak thro' me,
With general voice accusing Philoctetes.
Urged doubtless by the fates, once more he visits
These haunts of woe, to save us from destruction.
JOCASTA.
What do I hear, great gods!
EGINA.
Amaze o'erwhelms me!
JOCASTA.
Who! Philoctetes!
ARASPES.
He himself. To whom
Should we impute the murther but to him,
Who seem'd before our eyes to meditate
The fatal blow? 'Twas known, he hated Laius;
With difficulty from thy husband's sight
That hatred he conceal'd. Imprudent youth
Unwarily betrays itself. His face,
But ill disguised, shew'd all the latent malice.
I know not what offence inflamed his ire,
But if the king were only named, too warm,
And too unguarded, by a rage enslaved,
Which he could not o'ercome, his insolence
Dared e'en advance to threats. He left the realm.
But soon his wand'ring destiny again
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Nay more, at that ill-omen'd time, by heaven
Distinguish'd by the dreadful parricide,
In Thebes he sojourn'd. Since that fatal hour,
And not without foundation, the mistrust
Of all our injur'd people fell on him.
What have I said? In doubt for many a day,
'Twixt him and Phorbas waver'd their suspicion.
Mean time the mighty name he gain'd in war,
His title so illustrious, earth's avenger,
The veneration which against our wills
We pay to heroes, smother'd in its birth
The voice of Jealousy, and held our blow
Suspended. But the times are not the same
As then they were. In this tremendous day,
Thebes every loitering relict will destroy
Of dangerous respect. In vain his glory
Speaks to these agitated bosoms; blood
The gods demand, and them alone we hear.
FIRST PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
Pity, O queen! a people who with love
Have ever served thee! Imitate the gods
In exemplary justice! To our hands
Deliver up their victim! Let our prayers
From thee ascend! Who can awake their mercy,
If not a heart in goodness like their own!
JOCASTA.
Oh! were my life demanded to assuage
Their vengeance, I the sacrifice would yield
Without repining. Thebans! who believe
This breast of mine not unendow'd with virtue,
I offer you my blood. Exact no more.
Depart.
| Oedipus | |