The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 06

Œdip. How, Jocasta?

Joc. By marriage with his niece, Eurydice.

Œdip. Uncle and niece! they are too near, my love;
'Tis too like incest; 'tis offence to kind:
Had I not promised, were there no Adrastus,
No choice but Creon left her of mankind,
They should not marry: Speak no more of it;
The thought disturbs me.

Joc. Heaven can never bless
A vow so broken, which I made to Creon;
Remember, he is my brother.

Œdip. That is the bar;
And she thy daughter: Nature would abhor
To be forced back again upon herself,
And, like a whirlpool, swallow her own streams.

Joc. Be not displeased: I'll move the suit no more.

Œdip. No, do not; for, I know not why, it shakes me,
When I but think on incest. Move we forward,
To thank the gods for my success, and pray
To wash the guilt of royal blood away.[Exeunt.

ACT II.
SCENE I.—An open Gallery. A Royal Bed-chamber being supposed behind.
The Time, Night. Thunder, &c.

Enter Hæmon, Alcander, and Pyracmon.

Enter Œdipus, Jocasta, Eurydice, Adrastus; and all coming forward with amazement.

Œdip. Answer, you powers divine! spare all this noise,
This rack of heaven, and speak your fatal pleasure.
Why breaks yon dark and dusky orb away?
Why from the bleeding womb of monstrous night,
Burst forth such myriads of abortive stars?
Ha! my Jocasta, look! the silver moon!
A settling crimson stains her beauteous face!
She's all o'er blood! and look, behold again,
What mean the mystic heavens she journies on?
A vast eclipse darkens the labouring planet:—
Sound there, sound all our instruments of war;
Clarions and trumpets, silver, brass, and iron,
And beat a thousand drums, to help her labour.

Adr. 'Tis vain; you see the prodigies continue;
Let's gaze no more, the gods are humorous.

The Cloud draws, that veiled the Heads of the Figures in the Sky, and shews them crowned, with the names of Œdipus and Jocasta, written above in great characters of gold.

Adr. Either I dream, and all my cooler senses
Are vanished with that cloud that fleets away,
Or just above those two majestic heads,
I see, I read distinctly, in large gold,
Œdipus and Jocasta.

Alc. I read the same.

Adr. 'Tis wonderful; yet ought not man to wade
Too far in the vast deep of destiny. [Thunder; and the Prodigies vanish.

Joc. My lord, my Œdipus, why gaze you now,
When the whole heaven is clear, as if the gods
Had some new monsters made? will you not turn,
And bless your people, who devour each word
You breathe?

Œdip. It shall be so.
Yes, I will die, O Thebes, to save thee!
Draw from my heart my blood, with more content
Than e'er I wore thy crown.—Yet, O Jocasta!
By all the endearments of miraculous love,
By all our languishings, our fears in pleasure,
Which oft have made us wonder; here I swear,
On thy fair hand, upon thy breast I swear,
I cannot call to mind, from budding childhood
To blooming youth, a crime by me committed,
For which the awful gods should doom my death.

Œdip. Is't possible?

Joc. Alas! why start you so? Her stiffening grief,
Who saw her children slaughtered all at once,
Was dull to mine: Methinks, I should have made
My bosom bare against the armed god,
To save my Œdipus!

Œdip. I pray, no more.

Joc. You've silenced me, my lord.

Œdip. Pardon me, dear Jocasta!
Pardon a heart that sinks with sufferings,
And can but vent itself in sobs and murmurs:
Yet, to restore my peace, I'll find him out.
Yes, yes, you gods! you shall have ample vengeance
On Laius' murderer. O, the traitor's name!
I'll know't, I will; art shall be conjured for it,
And nature all unravelled.

Joc. Sacred sir—

Œdip. Rage will have way, and 'tis but just; I'll fetch him,
Though lodged in air upon a dragon's wing,
Though rocks should hide him: Nay, he shall be dragged
From hell, if charms can hurry him along:
His ghost shall be, by sage Tiresias' power,—
Tiresias, that rules all beneath the moon,—
Confined to flesh, to suffer death once more;
And then be plunged in his first fires again.

Enter Creon.

Cre. My lord,
Tiresias attends your pleasure.

Enter Tiresias, leaning on a staff, led by his Daughter Manto, followed by other Thebans.

O thou, whose most aspiring mind
Knows all the business of the courts above,
Opens the closets of the gods, and dares
To mix with Jove himself and Fate at council;
O prophet, answer me, declare aloud
The traitor, who conspired the death of Laius;
Or be they more, who from malignant stars
Have drawn this plague, that blasts unhappy Thebes?

Tir. We must no more than Fate commissions us
To tell; yet something, and of moment, I'll unfold,
If that the god would wake; I feel him now,
Like a strong spirit charmed into a tree,
That leaps, and moves the wood without a wind:
The roused god, as all this while he lay
Entombed alive, starts and dilates himself;
He struggles, and he tears my aged trunk
With holy fury; my old arteries burst;
My rivell'd skin,
Like parchment, crackles at the hallowed fire;
I shall be young again:—Manto, my daughter,
Thou hast a voice that might have saved the bard
Of Thrace, and forced the raging bacchanals,
With lifted prongs, to listen to thy airs.
O charm this god, this fury in my bosom,
Lull him with tuneful notes, and artful strings,
With powerful strains; Manto, my lovely child,
Sooth the unruly godhead to be mild.

Tir. The wretch, who shed the blood of old Labdacides,
Lives, and is great;
But cruel greatness ne'er was long.
The first of Laius' blood his life did seize,
And urged his fate,
Which else had lasting been and strong.
The wretch, who Laius killed, must bleed or fly;
Or Thebes, consumed with plagues, in ruins lie.

Œdip. The first of Laius' blood! pronounce the person;
May the god roar from thy prophetic mouth,
That even the dead may start up, to behold;
Name him, I say, that most accursed wretch,
For, by the stars, he dies!
Speak, I command thee;
By Phœbus, speak; for sudden death's his doom:
Here shall he fall, bleed on this very spot;
His name, I charge thee once more, speak.

Œdip. Fetch it from thence; I'll have't, wheree'er it be.

Cre. Let me entreat you, sacred sir, be calm,
And Creon shall point out the great offender.
'Tis true, respect of nature might enjoin
Me silence, at another time; but, oh,
Much more the power of my eternal love!
That, that should strike me dumb; yet Thebes, my country—
I'll break through all, to succour thee, poor city!
O, I must speak.

Œdip. Speak then, if aught thou knowest,
As much thou seem'st to know,—delay no longer.

Cre. O beauty! O illustrious, royal maid!
To whom my vows were ever paid, till now;
And with such modest, chaste, and pure affection,
The coldest nymph might read'em without blushing;
Art thou the murdress, then, of wretched Laius?
And I, must I accuse thee! O my tears!
Why will you fall in so abhorred a cause?
But that thy beauteous, barbarous hand destroyed
Thy father, (O monstrous act!) both gods
And men at once take notice.

Œdip. Eurydice!

Eur. Traitor, go on; I scorn thy little malice;
And knowing more my perfect innocence,
Than gods and men, then how much more than thee,
Who art their opposite, and formed a liar,
I thus disdain thee! Thou once didst talk of love;
Because I hate thy love,
Thou dost accuse me.

Œdip. Disarm them both!—Prince, I shall make you know,
That, I can tame you twice. Guards, seize him.

Adr. Sir,
I must acknowledge, in another cause
Repentance might abash me; but I glory
In this, and smile to see the traitor's blood.

Œdip. Creon, you shall be satisfied at full.

Cre. My hurt is nothing, sir; but I appeal
To wise Tiresias, if my accusation
Be not most true. The first of Laius' blood
Gave him his death. Is there a prince before her?
Then she is faultless, and I ask her pardon.
And may this blood ne'er cease to drop, O Thebes,
If pity of thy sufferings did not move me,
To shew the cure which heaven itself prescribed.

Eur. Yes, Thebans, I will die to save your lives.
More willingly than you can wish my fate;
But let this good, this wise, this holy man,
Pronounce my sentence: For to fall by him,
By the vile breath of that prodigious villain,
Would sink my soul, though I should die a martyr.

Adr. Unhand me, slaves.—O mightiest of kings,
See at your feet a prince not used to kneel;
Touch not Eurydice, by all the gods,
As you would save your Thebes, but take my life:
For should she perish, heaven would heap plagues on plagues,
Rain sulphur down, hurl kindled bolts
Upon your guilty heads.

Cre. You turn to gallantry, what is but justice;
Proof will be easy made. Adrastus was
The robber, who bereft the unhappy king
Of life; because he flatly had denied
To make so poor a prince his son-in-law;
Therefore 'twere fit that both should perish.

All Theb. Both, both; let them die.

Œdip. Hence, you wild herd! For your ringleader here,
He shall be made example. Hæmon, take him.

1 Theb. Mercy, O mercy!

Œdip. Mutiny in my presence!
Hence, let me see that busy face no more.

Tir. Thebans, what madness makes you drunk with rage?
Enough of guilty death's already acted:
Fierce Creon has accused Eurydice,
With prince Adrastus; which the god reproves
By inward checks, and leaves their fates in doubt.

Œdip. Therefore instruct us what remains to do,
Or suffer; for I feel a sleep like death
Upon me, and I sigh to be at rest.

Tir. Since that the powers divine refuse to clear
The mystic deed, I'll to the grove of furies;
There I can force the infernal gods to shew
Their horrid forms; each trembling ghost shall rise,
And leave their grisly king without a waiter.
For prince Adrastus and Eurydice,
My life's engaged, I'll guard them in the fane,
'Till the dark mysteries of hell are done.
Follow me, princes; Thebans, all to rest.
O, Œdipus, to-morrow—but no more.
If that thy wakeful genius will permit,
Indulge thy brain this night with softer slumbers:
To-morrow, O to-morrow!—Sleep, my son;
And in prophetic dreams thy fate be shown. [Exeunt Tir. Adr. Eur. Man. and Theb.

Manent Œdipus, Jocasta, Creon, Pyracmon, Hæmon, and Alcander.

Joc. Consume whole years in care, so now and then
I may have leave to feed my famished eyes
With one short passing glance, and sigh my vows:
This, and no more, my lord, is all the passion
Of languishing Jocasta.[Exit.

Œdip. Thou softest, sweetest of the world! good night.—
Nay, she is beauteous too; yet, mighty love!
I never offered to obey thy laws,
But an unusual chillness came upon me;
An unknown hand still checked my forward joy,
Dashed me with blushes, though no light was near;
That even the act became a violation.

Pyr. He's strangely thoughtful.

Œdip. Hark! who was that? Ha! Creon, didst thou call me?

Cre. Not I, my gracious lord, nor any here.

Œdip. That's strange! methought I heard a doleful voice
Cry, Œdipus.—The prophet bade me sleep.
He talked of dreams, and visions, and to-morrow!
I'll muse no more; come what will, or can,
My thoughts are clearer than unclouded stars;
And with those thoughts I'll rest. Creon, good-night. [Exit with Hæm.

Cre. Sleep seal your eyes up, sir,—eternal sleep!
But if he sleep and wake again, O all
Tormenting dreams, wild horrors of the night,
And hags of fancy, wing him through the air:
From precipices hurl him headlong down,
Charybdis roar, and death be set before him!

Alc. Your curses have already taken effect,
For he looks very sad.

Pyr. No more; you tear yourself, but vex not him.
Methinks 'twere brave this night to force the temple,
While blind Tiresias conjures up the fiends,
And pass the time with nice Eurydice.

Alc. Try promises and threats, and if all fail,
Since hell's broke loose, why should not you be mad?
Ravish, and leave her dead with her Adrastus.

Cre. Were the globe mine, I'd give a province hourly
For such another thought.—Lust and revenge!
To stab at once the only man I hate,
And to enjoy the woman whom I love!
I ask no more of my auspicious stars,
The rest as fortune please; so but this night
She play me fair, why, let her turn for ever.

Enter Hæmon.

Hæm. My lord, the troubled king is gone to rest;
Yet, ere he slept, commanded me to clear
The antichambers; none must dare be near him.

Cre. Hæmon, you do your duty;[Thunder.
And we obey.—The night grows yet more dreadful!
'Tis just that all retire to their devotions.
The gods are angry; but to-morrow's dawn,
If prophets do not lie, will make all clear.

As they go off, Œdipus enters, walking asleep in his shirt, with a dagger in his right hand, and a taper in his left.

Enter Jocasta attended, with Lights, in a Night-gown.

Œdip. Night, horror, death, confusion, hell, and furies!
Where am I?—O, Jocasta, let me hold thee,
Thus to my bosom! ages let me grasp thee!
All that the hardest-tempered weathered flesh,
With fiercest human spirit inspired, can dare,
Or do, I dare; but, oh you powers, this was,
By infinite degrees, too much for man.
Methinks my deafened ears
Are burst; my eyes, as if they had been knocked
By some tempestuous hand, shoot flashing fire;—
That sleep should do this!

Œdip. Trust me, thou fairest, best of all thy kind,
None e'er in dreams was tortured so before.
Yet what most shocks the niceness of my temper,
Even far beyond the killing of my father,
And my own death, is, that this horrid sleep
Dashed my sick fancy with an act of incest:
I dreamt, Jocasta, that thou wert my mother;
Which, though impossible, so damps my spirits,
That I could do a mischief on myself,
Lest I should sleep, and dream the like again.

Joc. O Œdipus, too well I understand you!
I know the wrath of heaven, the care of Thebes,
The cries of its inhabitants, war's toils,
And thousand other labours of the state,
Are all referred to you, and ought to take you
For ever from Jocasta.

Œdip. Life of my life, and treasure of my soul,
Heaven knows I love thee.

Joc. O, you think me vile,
And of an inclination so ignoble,
That I must hide me from your eyes for ever.
Be witness, gods, and strike Jocasta dead,
If an immodest thought, or low desire,
Inflamed my breast, since first our loves were lighted.

Ghost. [Within.] Œdipus!

Œdip. Ha! who calls?
Didst thou not hear a voice?

Joc. Alas! I did.

Ghost. Jocasta!

Joc. O my love, my lord, support me!

Œdip. Call louder, till you burst your airy forms!—
Rest on my hand. Thus, armed with innocence,
I'll face these babbling dæmons of the air;
In spite of ghosts, I'll on.
Though round my bed the furies plant their charms,
I'll break them, with Jocasta in my arms;
Clasped in the folds of love, I'll wait my doom;
And act my joys, though thunder shake the room.[Exeunt.

ACT III.
SCENE I.—A dark Grove.

Enter Creon and Diocles.

Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than be unhappy.

Dioc. What mean you by these words?

Cre. 'Tis better not to be, than to be Creon.
A thinking soul is punishment enough;
But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too,
Then every thought draws blood.

Dioc. You are not wretched.

Dioc. You rave; call home your thoughts.

Cre. I pr'ythee let my soul take air a while;
Were she in Œdipus, I were a king;
Then I had killed a monster, gained a battle,
And had my rival prisoner; brave, brave actions!
Why have not I done these?

Dioc. Your fortune hindered.

Cre. There's it; I have a soul to do them all:
But fortune will have nothing done that's great,
But by young handsome fools; body and brawn
Do all her work: Hercules was a fool,
And straight grew famous; a mad boist'rous fool,
Nay worse, a woman's fool;
Fool is the stuff, of which heaven makes a hero.

Enter Eurydice.

How, madam, were your thoughts employed?

Eur. On death, and thee.

Cre. Then were they not well sorted: Life and me
Had been the better match.

Eur. No, I was thinking
On two the most detested things in nature:
And they are death and thee.

Cre. The thought of death to one near death is dreadful!
O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more;
Or, if to be, to wander after death;
To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day;
And when the darkness comes, to glide in paths
That lead to graves; and in the silent vault,
Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it,
Striving to enter your forbidden corps,
And often, often, vainly breathe your ghost
Into your lifeless lips;
Then, like a lone benighted traveller,
Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answered
By whistling winds, whose every blast will shake
Your tender form to atoms.

Eur. Must I be this thin being? and thus wander?
No quiet after death!

Cre. None: You must leave
This beauteous body; all this youth and freshness
Must be no more the object of desire,
But a cold lump of clay;
Which then your discontented ghost will leave,
And loath its former lodging.
This is the best of what comes after death.
Even to the best.

Cre. For her Adrastus!

Eur. Yes; for her Adrastus:
For death shall ne'er divide us: Death? what's death!

Dioc. You seemed to fear it.

Eur. But I more fear Creon:
To take that hunch-backed monster in my arms!
The excrescence of a man!

Dioc. to Cre. See what you've gained.

Eur. Death only can be dreadful to the bad:
To innocence, 'tis like a bug-bear dressed
To frighten children; pull but off his masque,
And he'll appear a friend.

Cre. You talk too slightly
Of death and hell. Let me inform you better.

Eur. You best can tell the news of your own country.

Dioc. Nay, now you are too sharp.

Eur. Can I be so to one, who has accused me
Of murder and of parricide?

Cre. You provoked me:
And yet I only did thus far accuse you,
As next of blood to Laius: Be advised,
And you may live.

Eur. The means?

Cre. 'Tis offered you.
The fool Adrastus has accused himself.

Eur. He has indeed, to take the guilt from me.

Cre. He says he loves you; if he does, 'tis well:
He ne'er could prove it in a better time.

Eur. Then death must be his recompence for love?

Eur. When he's dead,
Where shall I find his equal!

Cre. Every where.
Fine empty things, like him, the court swarms with them.
Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common,
Crows feed on nothing else: plenty of fools;
A glut of them in Thebes.
And fortune still takes care they should be seen:
She places 'em aloft, o'th' topmost spoke
Of all her wheel. Fools are the daily work
Of nature; her vocation; if she form
A man, she loses by't, 'tis too expensive;
'Twould make ten fools: A man's a prodigy.

Eur. That is, a Creon: O thou black detractor,
Who spit'st thy venom against gods and men!
Thou enemy of eyes;
Thou, who lov'st nothing but what nothing loves,
And that's thyself; who hast conspired against
My life and fame, to make me loathed by all,
And only fit for thee.
But for Adrastus' death,—good Gods, his death!—
What curse shall I invent?

Dioc. No more: he's here.

Eur. He shall be ever here.
He who would give his life, give up his fame—

Enter Adrastus.

If all the excellence of woman-kind
Were mine;—No, 'tis too little all for him:
Were I made up of endless, endless joys!

Cre. [To Dioc.] Work him, be sure,
To rage; he is passionate;
Make him the aggressor.

Dioc. O false love, false honour!

Cre. Dissembled both, and false!

Adr. Darest thou say this to me?

Cre. To you! why what are you, that I should fear you?
I am not Laius. Hear me, prince of Argos;
You give what's nothing, when you give your honour:
'Tis gone; 'tis lost in battle. For your love,
Vows made in wine are not so false as that:
You killed her father; you confessed you did:
A mighty argument to prove your passion to the daughter!

Adr. [Aside.] Gods, must I bear this brand, and not retort
The lye to his foul throat!

Dioc. Basely you killed him.

Adr. [Aside.] O, I burn inward: my blood's all on fire!
Alcides, when the poisoned shirt sate closest,
Had but an ague-fit to this my fever.
Yet, for Eurydice, even this I'll suffer,
To free my love.—Well then, I killed him basely.

Cre. Fairly, I'm sure, you could not.

Dioc. Nor alone.

Cre. You had your fellow thieves about you, prince;
They conquered, and you killed.

Eur. [To him.] Reproach not thus the weakness of my sex,
As if I could not bear a shameful death,
Rather than see you burdened with a crime
Of which I know you free.

Cre. You do ill, madam,
To let your head-long love triumph o'er nature:
Dare you defend your father's murderer?

Eur. You know he killed him not.

Cre. Let him say so.

Dioc. See, he stands mute.

Cre. O power of conscience, even in wicked men!
It works, it stings, it will not let him utter
One syllable, one,—no, to clear himself
From the most base, detested, horrid act
That ere could stain a villain,—not a prince.

Adr. Ha! villain!

Dioc. Echo to him, groves: cry villain.

Adr. Let me consider—did I murder Laius,
Thus, like a villain?

Cre. Best revoke your words,
And say you killed him not.

Adr. Not like a villain; pr'ythee, change me that
For any other lye.

Dioc. No, villain, villain.

Cre. You killed him not! proclaim your innocence,
Accuse the princess: So I knew 'twould be.

Adr. I thank thee, thou instructest me:
No matter how I killed him.

Cre. [Aside.] Cooled again!

Cre. You will not be believed, for I'll forswear it.

Eur. What's now thy conscience?

Cre. 'Tis my slave, my drudge, my supple glove,
My upper garment, to put on, throw off,
As I think best: 'Tis my obedient conscience.

Adr. Infamous wretch!

Cre. My conscience shall not do me the ill office
To save a rival's life; when thou art dead,
(As dead thou shalt be, or be yet more base
Than thou think'st me,
By forfeiting her life, to save thy own,—)
Know this,—and let it grate thy very soul,—
She shall be mine: (she is, if vows were binding;)
Mark me, the fruit of all thy faith and passion,
Even of thy foolish death, shall all be mine.

Adr. Thine, say'st thou, monster! shall my love be thine?
O, I can bear no more!
Thy cunning engines have with labour raised
My heavy anger, like a mighty weight,
To fall and pash thee dead.
See here thy nuptials; see, thou rash Ixion,[Draws.
Thy promised Juno vanished in a cloud;
And in her room avenging thunder rolls,
To blast thee thus!—Come both!—[Both draw.

Cre. 'Tis what I wished.
Now see whose arm can launch the surer bolt,
And who's the better Jove![Fight.

Eur. Help; murther, help!

Enter Hæmon and guards, run betwixt them, and beat down their swords.

Adr. Forgive a stranger's ignorance: I knew not
The honours of the place.

Adr. I was provoked
Beyond man's patience; all reproach could urge
Was used to kindle one, not apt to bear.

Hæm. 'Tis Œdipus, not I, must judge this act.—
Lord Creon, you and Diocles retire:
Tiresias, and the brother-hood of priests,
Approach the place: None at these rites assist,
But you the accused, who by the mouth of Laius
Must be absolved or doomed.

Adr. I bear my fortune.

Eur. And I provoke my trial.

Hæm. 'Tis at hand.
For see, the prophet comes, with vervain crowned;
The priests with yew, a venerable band;
We leave you to the gods. [Exit Hæmon with Creon and Diocles.

Enter Tiresias, led by Manto: The Priests follow; all cloathed in long black habits.

Eur. Is there no God so much a friend to love,
Who can controul the malice of our fate?
Are they all deaf; or have the giants heaven?

Tir. The gods are just;
But how can finite measure infinite?
Reason! alas, it does not know itself!
Yet man, vain man, would with this short-lined plummet,
Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice.
Whatever is, is in its causes just;
Since all things are by fate. But purblind man
Sees but a part o'the chain; the nearest links;
His eyes not carrying to that equal beam,
That poises all above.

Eur. Then we must die!

Tir. The danger's imminent this day.

Adr. Why then there's one day less for human ills;
And who would moan himself, for suffering that,
Which in a day must pass? something, or nothing;—
I shall be what I was again, before
I was Adrastus.—
Penurious heaven, can'st thou not add a night
To our one day? give me a night with her,
And I'll give all the rest.

Tir. She broke her vow,
First made to Creon: But the time calls on;
And Laius' death must now be made more plain.
How loth I am to have recourse to rites
So full of horror, that I once rejoice
I want the use of sight!—

1 Pr. The ceremonies stay.

All Pr. 'Tis done.

Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit?
Draw her backward to the pit:
Draw the barren heifer back;
Barren let her be, and black.
Cut the curled hair, that grows
Full betwixt her horns and brows:
And turn your faces from the sun:
Answer me, if this be done?

All Pr. 'Tis done.

Tir. Pour in blood, and blood like wine,
To mother Earth and Proserpine:
Mingle milk into the stream;
Feast the ghosts that love the steam;
Snatch a brand from funeral pile;
Toss it in to make them boil:
And turn your faces from the sun:
Answer me, if all be done?

All Pr. All is done. [Peal of Thunder; and flashes of Lightning; then groaning below the stage.

Man. O, what laments are those?

Tir. The groans of ghosts, that cleave the heart with pain,
And heave it up: they pant and stick half-way. [The Stage wholly darkened.

Man. And now a sudden darkness covers all,
True genuine night, night added to the groves;
The fogs are blown full in the face of heaven.

Tir. Am I but half obeyed? infernal gods,
Must you have musick too? then tune your voices,
And let them have such sounds as hell ne'er heard,
Since Orpheus bribed the shades.

1. Hear, ye sullen powers below:
Hear, ye taskers of the dead.
2. You that boiling cauldrons blow,
You that scum the molten lead.
3. You that pinch with red-hot tongs;
1. You that drive the trembling hosts
Of poor, poor ghosts,
With your sharpened prongs;
2. You that thrust them off the brim;
3. You that plunge them when they swim:
1. Till they drown;
Till they go
On a row,
Down, down, down:
Ten thousand, thousand, thousand fathoms low.

Chorus. Till they drown, &c.

1. Musick for awhile
Shall your cares beguile:
Wondering how your pains were eased;
2. And disdaining to be pleas'd;
1. Till Alecto free the dead
From their eternal bands;
Till the snakes drop from her head,
And whip from out her hands.
1. Come away,
Do not stay,
But obey,
While we play,
For hell's broke up, and ghosts have holiday.

Chorus. Come away, &c. [A flash of Lightning: The Stage is made bright, and the Ghosts are seen passing betwixt the Trees.

1. Laius! 2. Laius! 3. Laius!

Tir. Hear and appear!
By the Fates that spun thy thread!

Cho. Which are three.

Tir. By the furies fierce and dread!

Cho. Which are three.

Tir. By the judges of the dead!

Cho. Which are three.
Three times three!

Tir. By hell's blue flame:
By the Stygian Lake:
And by Demogorgon's name,
At which ghosts quake,
Hear and appear! [The Ghost of Laius rises armed in his chariot, as he was slain. And behind his Chariot, sit the three who were murdered with him.

Ghost of Laius. Why hast thou drawn me from my pain below,
To suffer worse above? to see the day,
And Thebes, more hated? Hell is heaven to Thebes.
For pity send me back, where I may hide,
In willing night, this ignominious head:
In hell I shun the public scorn; and then
They hunt me for their sport, and hoot me as I fly:
Behold even now they grin at my gored side,
And chatter at my wounds.

Tir. I pity thee:
Tell but why Thebes is for thy death accurst,
And I'll unbind the charm.

Ghost. O spare my shame!

Tir. Are these two innocent?

Enter Œdipus, Creon, Hæmon, &c.

Œdip. What's this! methought some pestilential blast
Struck me, just entering; and some unseen hand
Struggled to push me backward! tell me why
My hair stands bristling up, why my flesh trembles?
You stare at me! then hell has been among ye,
And some lag fiend yet lingers in the grove.

Tir. What omen sawest thou, entering?

Œdip. A young stork,
That bore his aged parent on his back;
Till weary with the weight, he shook him off,
And pecked out both his eyes.

Adr. Oh, Œdipus!

Eur. Oh, wretched Œdipus!

Tir. Oh, fatal king!

Tir. Thou knowest not what thou sayest.

Œdip. What mutters he? tell me, Eurydice:
Thou shak'st: Thy soul's a woman;—speak, Adrastus,
And boldly, as thou met'st my arms in fight:—
Dar'st thou not speak? why then 'tis bad indeed.—
Tiresias, thee I summon by thy priesthood,
Tell me what news from hell; where Laius points,
And whose the guilty head!

Tir. Let me not answer.

Œdip. Be dumb then, and betray thy native soil
To farther plagues.

Tir. I dare not name him to thee.

Œdip. Dar'st thou converse with hell, and canst thou fear
An human name?

Tir. Urge me no more to tell a thing, which, known,
Would make thee more unhappy: 'Twill be found,
Though I am silent.

Œdip. Old and obstinate! Then thou thyself
Art author or accomplice of this murther,
And shun'st the justice, which by public ban
Thou hast incurred.

Tir. O, if the guilt were mine,
It were not half so great: Know, wretched man,
Thou only, thou art guilty! thy own curse
Falls heavy on thyself.

Œdip. Speak this again:
But speak it to the winds, when they are loudest,
Or to the raging seas; they'll hear as soon,
And sooner will believe.

Œdip. Rot the tongue,
And blasted be the mouth that spoke that lie!
Thou blind of sight, but thou more blind of soul!

Tir. Thy parents thought not so.

Œdip. Who were my parents?

Tir. Thou shalt know too soon.

Œdip. Why seek I truth from thee?
The smiles of courtiers, and the harlot's tears,
The tradesman's oaths, and mourning of an heir,
Are truths to what priests tell.
O why has priest-hood privilege to lie,
And yet to be believed!—thy age protects thee.

Cre. And turn the guilt, on you.

Œdip. O, honest Creon, how hast thou been belied!

Eur. Hear me.

Cre. She's bribed to save her lover's life.

Adr. If, Œdipus, thou think'st—

Cre. Hear him not speak.

Adr. Then hear these holy men.

Cre. Priests, priests; all bribed, all priests.

Œdip. Adrastus, I have found thee:
The malice of a vanquished man has seized thee!

Adr. If envy and not truth—

Œdip. I'll hear no more: Away with him. [Hæmon takes him off by force: Creon and Eurydice follow.
[To Tir.] Why stand'st thou here, impostor?
So old, and yet so wicked,—Lie for gain?
And gain so short as age can promise thee!

Tir. So short a time as I have yet to live,
Exceeds thy 'pointed hour;—remember Laius!
No more; if e'er we meet again, 'twill be
In mutual darkness; we shall feel before us
To reach each other's hand;—remember Laius! [Exit Tiresias: Priests follow.

Œdipus solus.

Enter Jocasta.

Joc. Why are you thus disturbed?

Œdip. Why, would'st thou think it?
No less than murder.

Joc. Murder! what of murder?

Œdip. Is murder then no more? add parricide,
And incest; bear not these a frightful sound?

Joc. Alas!

Œdip. How poor a pity is alas,
For two such crimes!—was Laius us'd to lie?

Joc. Oh no: The most sincere, plain, honest man;
One who abhorred a lie.

Œdip. Then he has got that quality in hell.
He charges me—but why accuse I him?
I did not hear him speak it: They accuse me,—
The priest, Adrastus and Eurydice,—
Of murdering Laius!—Tell me, while I think on't,
Has old Tiresias practised long this trade?

Joc. What trade?

Œdip. Why, this foretelling trade.

Joc. For many years.

Œdip. Has he before this day accused me?

Joc. Never.

Œdip. Have you ere this inquired who did this murder?

Joc. Often; but still in vain.

Œdip. I am satisfied.
Then 'tis an infant-lye; but one day old.
The oracle takes place before the priest;
The blood of Laius was to murder Laius:
I'm not of Laius' blood.

Œdip. And what foretold it?

Joc. That he should have a son by me, foredoomed
The murderer of his father: True, indeed,
A son was born; but, to prevent that crime,
The wretched infant of a guilty fate,
Bored through his untried feet, and bound with cords,
On a bleak mountain naked was exposed:
The king himself lived many, many years,
And found a different fate; by robbers murdered,
Where three ways met: Yet these are oracles,
And this the faith we owe them.

Œdip. Sayest thou, woman?
By heaven, thou hast awakened somewhat in me,
That shakes my very soul!

Joc. What new disturbance?

Œdip. Methought thou said'st—(or do I dream thou said'st it!)
This murder was on Laius' person done,
Where three ways meet?

Joc. So common fame reports.

Œdip. Would it had lied!

Joc. Why, good my lord?

Œdip. No questions.
'Tis busy time with me; despatch mine first;
Say where, where was it done!

Joc. Mean you the murder?

Œdip. Could'st thou not answer without naming murder?

Joc. They say in Phocide; on the verge that parts it
From Daulia, and from Delphos.

Œdip. So!—How long? when happened this?

Œdip. What will the gods do with me!

Joc. What means that thought?

Œdip. Something: But 'tis not yet your turn to ask:
How old was Laius, what his shape, his stature,
His action, and his mien? quick, quick, your answer!—

Joc. Big made he was, and tall: His port was fierce,
Erect his countenance: Manly majesty
Sate in his front, and darted from his eyes,
Commanding all he viewed: His hair just grizzled,
As in a green old age: Bate but his years,
You are his picture.

Œdip. [Aside.] Pray heaven he drew me not!—
Am I his picture?

Joc. So I have often told you.

Œdip. True, you have;
Add that unto the rest:—How was the king
Attended, when he travelled?

Joc. By four servants:
He went out private.

Œdip. Well counted still:—
One 'scaped, I hear; what since became of him?

Joc. When he beheld you first, as king in Thebes,
He kneeled, and trembling begged I would dismiss him:
He had my leave; and now he lives retired.

Œdip. This man must be produced: he must, Jocasta.

Joc. He shall—yet have I leave to ask you why?