With right to have thee back, I most of all,
For most of all (else were I vile indeed)
I mourn for thy misfortunes, seeing thee
An aged outcast, wandering on and on,
A beggar with one handmaid for thy stay.
Ah! who had e’er imagined she could fall
To such a depth of misery as this,
To tend in penury thy stricken frame,
A virgin ripe for wedlock, but unwed,
A prey for any wanton ravisher?
Seems it not cruel this reproach I cast
On thee and on myself and all the race?
Aye, but an open shame cannot be hid.
Hide it, O hide it, Oedipus, thou canst.
O, by our fathers’ gods, consent I pray;
Come back to Thebes, come to thy father’s home,
Bid Athens, as is meet, a fond farewell;
Thebes thy old foster-mother claims thee first.
O front of brass, thy subtle tongue would twist
To thy advantage every plea of right
Why try thy arts on me, why spread again
Toils where ’twould gall me sorest to be snared?
In old days when by self-wrought woes distraught,
I yearned for exile as a glad release,
Thy will refused the favour then I craved.
But when my frenzied grief had spent its force,
And I was fain to taste the sweets of home,
Then thou would’st thrust me from my country, then
These ties of kindred were by thee ignored;
And now again when thou behold’st this State
And all its kindly people welcome me,
Thou seek’st to part us, wrapping in soft words
Hard thoughts. And yet what pleasure canst thou find
In forcing friendship on unwilling foes?
Suppose a man refused to grant some boon
When you importuned him, and afterwards
When you had got your heart’s desire, consented,
Granting a grace from which all grace had fled,
Would not such favour seem an empty boon?
Yet such the boon thou profferest now to me,
Fair in appearance, but when tested false.
Yea, I will proved thee false, that these may hear;
Thou art come to take me, not to take me home,
But plant me on thy borders, that thy State
May so escape annoyance from this land.
That thou shalt never gain, but this instead—
My ghost to haunt thy country without end;
And for my sons, this heritage—no more—
Just room to die in. Have not I more skill
Than thou to draw the horoscope of Thebes?
Are not my teachers surer guides than thine—
Great Phoebus and the sire of Phoebus, Zeus?
Thou art a messenger suborned, thy tongue
Is sharper than a sword’s edge, yet thy speech
Will bring thee more defeats than victories.
Howbeit, I know I waste my words—begone,
And leave me here; whate’er may be my lot,
He lives not ill who lives withal content.
Which loses in this parley, I o’erthrown
By thee, or thou who overthrow’st thyself?
I shall be well contented if thy suit
Fails with these strangers, as it has with me.
Unhappy man, will years ne’er make thee wise?
Must thou live on to cast a slur on age?
Thou hast a glib tongue, but no honest man,
Methinks, can argue well on any side.
’Tis one thing to speak much, another well.
Thy words, forsooth, are few and all well aimed!
Not for a man indeed with wits like thine.
Depart! I bid thee in these burghers’ name,
And prowl no longer round me to blockade
My destined harbour.
I protest to these,
Not thee, and for thine answer to thy kin,
If e’er I take thee—
Who against their will
Could take me?
Though untaken thou shalt smart.
What power hast thou to execute this threat?
One of thy daughters is already seized,
The other I will carry off anon.
Woe, woe!
This is but prelude to thy woes.
Hast thou my child?
And soon shall have the other.
Ho, friends! ye will not surely play me false?
Chase this ungodly villain from your land.
Hence, stranger, hence avaunt! Thou doest wrong
In this, and wrong in all that thou hast done.
To his guards.
’Tis time by force to carry off the girl,
If she refuse of her free will to go.
Ah, woe is me! where shall I fly, where find
Succour from gods or men?
What would’st thou, stranger?
I meddle not with him, but her who is mine.
O princes of the land!
Sir, thou dost wrong.
Nay, right.
How right?
I take but what is mine.
Help, Athens!
What means this, sirrah? quick unhand her, or
We’ll fight it out.
Back!
Not till thou forbear.
’Tis war with Thebes if I am touched or harmed.
Did I not warn thee?
Quick, unhand the maid!
Command your minions; I am not your slave.
Desist, I bid thee.
To the guard.
And I bid thee march!
To the rescue, one and all!
Rally, neighbours to my call!
See, the foe is at the gate!
Rally to defend the State.
Ah, woe is me, they drag me hence, O friends.
Where art thou, daughter?
Haled along by force.
Thy hands, my child!
They will not let me, father.
Away with her!
Ah, woe is me, ah woe!
So those two crutches shall no longer serve thee
For further roaming. Since it pleaseth thee
To triumph o’er thy country and thy friends
Who mandate, though a prince, I here discharge,
Enjoy thy triumph; soon or late thou’lt find
Thou art an enemy to thyself, both now
And in time past, when in despite of friends
Thou gav’st the rein to passion, still thy bane.
Hold there, sir stranger!
Hands off, have a care.
Restore the maidens, else thou goest not.
Then Thebes will take a dearer surety soon;
I will lay hands on more than these two maids.
What canst thou further?
Carry off this man.
Brave words!
And deeds forthwith shall make them good.
Unless perchance our sovereign intervene.
O shameless voice! Would’st lay an hand on me?
Silence, I bid thee!
Goddesses, allow
Thy suppliant to utter yet one curse!
Wretch, now
