The Works of John Dryden, Volume 6

Seneca, perhaps to check the seeds of vice in Nero, his pupil, to whom incest and blood were afterwards so familiar [1], composed the Latin tragedy on the subject of Œdipus, which is alluded to by Dryden in the following preface. The cold declamatory rhetorical stile of that philosopher was adapted precisely to counteract the effect, which a tale of terror produces on the feelings and imagination. His taste exerted itself in filling up and garnishing the more trifling passages, which Sophocles had passed over as unworthy of notice, and in adjusting incidents laid in the heroic age of Grecian simplicity, according to the taste and customs of the court of Nero[2]. Yet though devoid of dramatic effect, of fancy, and of genius, the Œdipus of Seneca displays the masculine eloquence and high moral sentiment of its author; and if it does not interest us in the scene of fiction, it often compels us to turn our thoughts inward, and to study our own hearts.

119 The Œdipe of Corneille is in all respects unworthy of its great author. The poet considering, as he states in his introduction, that the subject of Œdipus tearing out his eyes was too horrible to be presented before ladies, qualifies its terrors by the introduction of a love intrigue betwixt Theseus and Dirce. The unhappy propensity of the French poets to introduce long discussions upon la belle passion, addressed merely to the understanding, without respect to feeling or propriety, is nowhere more ridiculously displayed than in "Œdipe." The play opens with the following polite speech of Theseus to Dirce:

N'ecoutez plus, madame, une pitie cruelle,

Qui d'un fidel amant vous ferait un rebelle:

La gloire d'obeir n'a rien que me soit doux,

Lorsque vous m'ordonnez de m'eloigner de vous.

Quelque ravage affreux qu'etale ici la peste,

L'absence aux vrais amans est encore plus funeste;

Et d'un si grand peril l'image s'offre en vain,

Quand ce peril douteux epargne un mal certain.

Act premiere, Scene premiere.

It is hardly possible more prettily to jingle upon the peril douteux, and the mal certain; but this is rather an awkward way of introducing the account of the pestilence, with which all the other dramatists have opened their scene. Œdipus, however, is at once sensible of the cause which detained Theseus at his melancholy court, amidst the horrors of the plague:

Je l'avais bien juge qu' un interet d'amour

Fermait ici vos yeux aux perils de ma cour.

Œdipo conjectere opus est—it would have been difficult for any other person to have divined such a motive. The conduct of the drama is exactly suitable to its commencement; the fate of Œdipus and of Thebes, the ravages of the pestilence, and the avenging of the death of Laius, are all secondary and subordinate considerations to the loves of Theseus and Dirce, as flat and uninteresting a pair as ever spoke platitudes in French hexameters. So much is this the engrossing subject of the drama, that Œdipus, at the very moment when Tiresias is supposed to be engaged in raising the ghost of Laius, occupies himself in a long scene of scolding about love and duty with Dirce; and it is not till he is almost bullied by her off the stage, that he suddenly recollects, as an apology for his retreat,

Mais il faut aller voir ce qu'a fait Tiresias.

Considering, however, the declamatory nature of the French dialogue, and the peremptory rule of their drama, that love, or rather gallantry, must be the moving principle of every performance, 120 it is more astonishing that Corneille should have chosen so masculine and agitating a subject, than that he should have failed in treating it with propriety or success.

In the following tragedy, Dryden has avowedly adopted the Greek model; qualified, however, by the under plot of Adrastus and Eurydice, which contributes little either to the effect or merit of the play. Creon, in his ambition and his deformity, is a poor copy of Richard III., without his abilities; his plots and treasons are baffled by the single appearance of Œdipus; and as for the loves and woes of Eurydice, and the prince of Argos, they are lost in the horrors of the principal story, like the moonlight amid the glare of a conflagration. In other respects, the conduct of the piece closely follows the "Œdipus Tyrannus," and, in some respects, even improves on that excellent model. The Tiresias of Sophocles, for example, upon his first introduction, denounces Œdipus as the slayer of Laius, braves his resentment, and prophesies his miserable catastrophe. In Dryden's play, the first anathema of the prophet is levelled only against the unknown murderer; and it is not till the powers of hell have been invoked, that even the eye of the prophet can penetrate the horrible veil, and fix the guilt decisively upon Œdipus. By this means, the striking quarrel betwixt the monarch and Tiresias is, with great art, postponed to the third act; and the interest, of course, is more gradually heightened than in the Grecian tragedy.

The first and third acts, which were wholly written by Dryden, maintain a decided superiority over the rest of the piece. Yet there are many excellent passages scattered through Lee's scenes; and as the whole was probably corrected by Dryden, the tragedy has the appearance of general consistence and uniformity. There are several scenes, in which Dryden seems to have indulged his newly adopted desire of imitating the stile of Shakespeare. Such are, in particular, the scene of Œdipus walking in his sleep, which bears marks of Dryden's pen; and such, also, is the incantation in the third act. Seneca and Corneille have thrown this last scene into narrative. Yet, by the present large size of our stages, and the complete management of light and shade, the incantation might be represented with striking effect; an advantage which, I fear, has been gained by the sacrifice of others, much more essential to the drama, considered as a dignified and rational amusement. The incantation itself is nobly written, and the ghost of Laius can only be paralleled in Shakespeare.

The language of Œdipus is, in general, nervous, pure, and elegant; and the dialogue, though in so high a tone of passion, is natural and affecting. Some of Lee's extravagancies are lamentable exceptions to this observation. This may be instanced in the passage, where Jocasta threatens to fire Olympus, destroy the heavenly 121 furniture, and smoke the deities like bees out of their ambrosial hives; and such is the still more noted wish of Œdipus;

Through all the inmost chambers of the sky,

May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark,

But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark!

These blemishes, however, are entitled to some indulgence from the reader, when they occur in a work of real genius. Those, who do not strive at excellence, will seldom fall into absurdity; as he, who is contented to walk, is little liable to stumble.

Notwithstanding the admirable disposition of the parts of this play, the gradual increase of the interest, and the strong impassioned language of the dialogue, the disagreeable nature of the plot forms an objection to its success upon a British stage. Distress, which turns upon the involutions of unnatural or incestuous passion, carries with it something too disgusting for the sympathy of a refined age; whereas, in a simple state of society, the feelings require a more powerful stimulus; as we see the vulgar crowd round an object of real horror, with the same pleasure we reap from seeing it represented on a theatre. Besides, in ancient times, in those of the Roman empire at least, such abominations really occurred, as sanctioned the story of Œdipus. But the change of manners has introduced not only greater purity of moral feeling, but a sensibility, which retreats with abhorrence even from a fiction turning upon such circumstances. Hence, Garrick, who well knew the taste of an English audience, renounced his intention of reviving the excellent old play of "King and no King;" and hence Massinger's still more awful tragedy of "The Unnatural Combat," has been justly deemed unfit for a modern stage. Independent of this disgusting circumstance, it may be questioned Whether the horror of this tragedy is not too powerful for furnishing mere amusement? It is said in the "Companion to the Playhouse," that when the piece was performing at Dublin, a musician, in the orchestra, was so powerfully affected by the madness of Œdipus, as to become himself actually delirious: and though this may be exaggerated, it is certain, that, when the play was revived about thirty years ago, the audience were unable to support it to an end; the boxes being all emptied before the third act was concluded. Among all our English plays, there is none more determinedly bloody than "Œdipus," in its progress and conclusion. The entrance of the unfortunate king, with his eyes torn from their sockets, is too disgusting for representation [3]. Of all the 122 persons of the drama, scarce one survives the fifth act. Œdipus dashes out his brains, Jocasta stabs herself, their children are strangled, Creon kills Eurydice, Adrastus kills Creon, and the insurgents kill Adrastus; when we add to this, that the conspirators are hanged, the reader will perceive, that the play, which began with a pestilence, concludes with a massacre,

And darkness is the burier of the dead.

Another objection to Œdipus has been derived from the doctrine of fatalism, inculcated by the story. There is something of cant in talking much upon the influence of a theatre on public morals; yet, I fear, though the most moral plays are incapable of doing much good, the turn of others may make a mischievous impression, by embodying in verse, and rendering apt for the memory, maxims of an impious or profligate tendency. In this point of view, there is, at least, no edification in beholding the horrible crimes unto which Œdipus is unwillingly plunged, and in witnessing the dreadful punishment he sustains, though innocent of all moral or intentional guilt, Corneille has endeavoured to counterbalance the obvious conclusion, by a long tirade upon free-will, which I have subjoined, as it contains some striking ideas.[4] But the doctrine, which it expresses, is contradictory of the whole 123 tenor of the story; and the correct deduction is much more justly summed up by Seneca, in the stoical maxim of necessity:

Fatis agimur, cedite Fatis;

Non solicitæ possunt curæ,

Mutare rati stamina fusi;

Quicquid patimur mortale genus,

Quicquid facimus venit ex alto;

Servatque sua decreta colus,

Lachesis dura revoluta manu.

Some degree of poetical justice might have been preserved, and a valuable moral inculcated, had the conduct of Œdipus, in his combat with Laius, been represented as atrocious, or, at least, unwarrantable; as the sequel would then have been a warning, how impossible it is to calculate the consequences or extent of a single act of guilt. But, after all, Dryden perhaps extracts the true moral, while stating our insufficiency to estimate the distribution of good and evil in human life, in a passage, which, in excellent poetry, expresses more sound truth, than a whole shelf of philosophers:

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.—

The prologue states, that the play, if damned, may be recorded as the "first buried since the Woollen Act." This enables us to fix the date of the performance. By the 30th Charles II. cap. 3. all persons were appointed to be buried in woollen after 1st August, 1678. The play must therefore have been represented early in the season 1678-9. It was not printed until 1679.

Footnotes:

Nero is said to have represented the character of Œdipus, amongst others of the same horrible cast.—Suetonius, Lib. VI. Cap. 21.

Thus Seneca is justly ridiculed by Dacier, for sending Laius forth with a numerous party of guards, to avoid the indecorum of a king going abroad too slenderly attended. The guards lose their way within a league of their master's capital; and, by this awkward contrivance, their absence is accounted for, when he is met by Œdipus.

Voltaire, however, held a different opinion. He thought a powerful effect might be produced by the exhibition of the blind king, indistinctly seen in the back ground, amid the shrieks of Jocasta, and the exclamations of the Thebans; provided the actor was capable of powerful gesture, and of expressing much passion, with little declamation.

Quoi! la necessite des vertus et des vices

D'un astre imperieux doit suivre les caprices?

Et Delphes malgré nous conduit nos actions

Au plus bizarre effet de ses predictions?

L'ame est donc toute esclave; une loi soveraine

Vers le bien ou le mal incessamment l'entraine;

Et nous recevons ni crainte ni desir,

De cette liberté qui n'a rien a choisir;

Attachés sans relache á cet ordre sublime,

Vertueux sans merite, et vicieux sans crime;

Qu'on massare les rois, qu'on brise les autels,

C'est la faute des dieux, et non pas des mortels;

De toute la vertu sur la terre epandue

Tout le prix ces dieux, toute la gloire est due;

Ils agissent en nous, quand nous pensons agir,

Alons qu'on delibere, on ne fait qu'obeir;

Et notre volonté n'aime, hait, cherche, evite,

Que suivant que d'en haut leur bras la precipite!

D'un tel aveuglement daignez me dispenser

Le ciel juste a punir, juste a recompenser,

Pour rendre aux actions leur peine ou leur salaire,

Doit nous offrir son aide et puis nous laisser faire.

124

PREFACE.

Though it be dangerous to raise too great an expectation, especially in works of this nature, where we are to please an insatiable audience, yet it is reasonable to prepossess them in favour of an author; and therefore, both the prologue and epilogue informed you, that Œdipus was the most celebrated piece of all antiquity; that Sophocles, not only the greatest wit, but one of the greatest men in Athens, made it for the stage at the public cost; and that it had the reputation of being his masterpiece, not only among the seven of his which are still remaining, but of the greater number which are perished. Aristotle has more than once admired it, in his Book of Poetry; Horace has mentioned it: Lucullus, Julius Cæsar, and other noble Romans, have written on the same subject, though their poems are wholly lost; but Seneca's is still preserved. In our own age, Corneille has attempted it, and, it appears by his preface, with great success. But a judicious reader will easily observe, how much the copy is inferior to the original. He tells you himself, that he owes a great part of his success, to the happy episode of Theseus and Dirce; which is the same thing, as if we should acknowledge, that we were 125 indebted for our good fortune to the under-plot of Adrastus, Eurydice, and Creon. The truth is, he miserably failed in the character of his hero: If he desired that Œdipus should be pitied, he should have made him a better man. He forgot, that Sophocles had taken care to show him, in his first entrance, a just, a merciful, a successful, a religious prince, and, in short, a father of his country. Instead of these, he has drawn him suspicious, designing, more anxious of keeping the Theban crown, than solicitous for the safety of his people; hectored by Theseus, condemned by Dirce, and scarce maintaining a second part in his own tragedy. This was an error in the first concoction; and therefore never to be mended in the second or the third. He introduced a greater hero than Œdipus himself; for when Theseus was once there, that companion of Hercules must yield to none. The poet was obliged to furnish him with business, to make him an equipage suitable to his dignity; and, by following him too close, to lose his other king of Brentford in the crowd. Seneca, on the other side, as if there were no such thing as nature to be minded in a play, is always running after pompous expression, pointed sentences, and philosophical notions, more proper for the study than the stage: the Frenchman followed a wrong scent; and the Roman was absolutely at cold hunting. All we could gather out of Corneille was, that an episode must be, but not his way: and Seneca supplied us with no new hint, but only a relation which he makes of his Tiresias raising the ghost of Laius; which is here performed in view of the audience,—the rites and ceremonies, so far his, as he agreed with antiquity, and the religion of the Greeks. But he himself was beholden to Homer's Tiresias, in the "Odysses," for some of them; and the rest have been collected from Heliodore's "Ethiopiques," 126 and Lucan's Erictho [1]. Sophocles, indeed, is admirable everywhere; and therefore we have followed him as close as possibly we could. But the Athenian theatre, (whether more perfect than ours, is not now disputed,) had a perfection differing from ours. You see there in every act a single scene, (or two at most,) which manage the business of the play; and after that succeeds the chorus, which commonly takes up more time in singing, than there has been employed in speaking. The principal person appears almost constantly through the play; but the inferior parts seldom above once in the whole tragedy. The conduct of our stage is much more difficult, where we are obliged never to lose any considerable character, which we have once presented. Custom likewise has obtained, that we must form an under-plot of second persons, which must be depending on the first; and their by-walks must be like those in a labyrinth, which all of them lead into the great parterre; or like so many several lodging chambers, which have their outlets into the same gallery. Perhaps, after all, if we could think so, the ancient method, as it is the easiest, is also the most natural, and the best. For variety, as it is managed, is too often subject to breed distraction; and while we would please too many 127 ways, for want of art in the conduct, we please in none [2]. But we have given you more already than was necessary for a preface; and, for aught we know, may gain no more by our instructions, than that politic nation is like to do, who have taught their enemies to fight so long, that at last they are in a condition to invade them[3].

Footnotes:

Heliodorus, bishop of Trica, wrote a romance in Greek, called the "Ethiopiques," containing the amours of Theagenes and Chariclea. He was so fond of this production, that, the option being proposed to him by a synod, he rather chose to resign his bishopric than destroy his work. There occurs a scene of incantation in this romance. The story of Lucan's witch occurs in the sixth book of the Pharsalia.
Dryden has judiciously imitated Seneca, in representing necromancy as the last resort of Tiresias, after all milder modes of augury had failed.

It had been much to be wished, that our author had preferred his own better judgment, and the simplicity of the Greek plot, to compliance with this foolish custom.

This seems to allude to the French, who, after having repeatedly reduced the Dutch to extremity, were about this period defeated by the Prince of Orange, in the battle of Mons. See the next note.

128

PROLOGUE.

When Athens all the Grecian slate did guide,

And Greece gave laws to all the world beside;

Then Sophocles with Socrates did sit,

Supreme in wisdom one, and one in wit:

And wit from wisdom differed not in those,

But as 'twas sung in verse, or said in prose.

Then, Œdipus, on crowded theatres,

Drew all admiring eyes and list'ning ears:

The pleased spectator shouted every line,

The noblest, manliest, and the best design!

And every critic of each learned age,

By this just model has reformed the stage.

Now, should it fail, (as heaven avert our fear!)

Damn it in silence, lest the world should hear.

For were it known this poem did not please,

You might set up for perfect savages:

Your neighbours would not look on you as men,

But think the nation all turned Picts again.

Faith, as you manage matters, 'tis not fit

You should suspect yourselves of too much wit:

Drive not the jest too far, but spare this piece;

And, for this once, be not more wise than Greece.

See twice! do not pell-mell to damning fall,

Like true-born Britons, who ne'er think at all:

Pray be advised; and though at Mons [1] you won,

On pointed cannon do not always run.

129 With some respect to ancient wit proceed;

You take the four first councils for your creed.

But, when you lay tradition wholly by,

And on the private spirit alone rely,

You turn fanatics in your poetry.

If, notwithstanding all that we can say,

You needs will have your penn'orths of the play,

And come resolved to damn, because you pay,

Record it, in memorial of the fact,

The first play buried since the woollen act.

Footnote:

On the 17th of August, 1678, the Prince of Orange, afterwards William III. marched to the attack of the French army, which blockaded Mons, and lay secured by the most formidable entrenchments. Notwithstanding a powerful and well-served artillery, the duke of Luxemburgh was forced to abandon his trenches, and retire with great loss. The English and Scottish regiments, under the gallant earl of Ossory, had their full share in the glory of the day. It is strongly suspected, that the Prince of Orange, when he undertook this perilous atchievement, knew that a peace had been signed betwixt France and the States, though the intelligence was not made public till next day. Carleton says, that the troops, when drawn up for the attack, supposed the purpose was to fire a feu-de-joie for the conclusion of the war. The enterprize, therefore, though successful, was needless as well as desperate, and merited Dryden's oblique censure.

130

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Œdipus, King of Thebes.
Adrastus, Prince of Argos.
Creon, Brother to Jocasta.
Tiresias, a blind Prophet.
Hæmon, Captain of the Guard.

Alcander,
Diocles,
Pyracmon,

}
}
}

Lords of Creon's faction.

Phorbas, an old Shepherd.
Dymas, the Messenger returned from Delphos.
Ægeon, the Corinthian Embassador.
Ghost of Laius, the late King of Thebes.

Jocasta, Queen of Thebes.
Eurydice, her Daughter, by Laius, her first husband.
Manto, Daughter of Tiresias.

Priests, Citizens, Attendants, &c.

SCENE—Thebes.

131

ŒDIPUS.

ACT I.
SCENE I.—The Curtain rises to a plaintive Tune, representing the present condition of Thebes; dead Bodies appear at a distance in the Streets; some faintly go over the Stage, others drop.

Enter Alcander, Diocles, and Pyracmon.

Alc. Methinks we stand on ruins; nature shakes
About us; and the universal frame
So loose, that it but wants another push,
To leap from off its hinges.

Dioc. No sun to cheer us; but a bloody globe,
That rolls above, a bald and beamless fire,
His face o'er-grown with scurf: The sun's sick, too;
Shortly he'll be an earth.

Pyr. Therefore the seasons
Lie all confused; and, by the heavens neglected,
Forget themselves: Blind winter meets the summer
In his mid-way, and, seeing not his livery,
Has driven him headlong back; and the raw damps,
With flaggy wings, fly heavily about,
132 Scattering their pestilential colds and rheums
Through all the lazy air.

Alc. Hence murrains followed
On bleating flocks, and on the lowing herds:
At last, the malady
Grew more domestic, and the faithful dog
Died at his master's feet [1].

Dioc. And next, his master:
For all those plagues, which earth and air had brooded,
First on inferior creatures tried their force,
And last they seized on man.

Pyr. And then a thousand deaths at once advanced,
And every dart took place; all was so sudden,
That scarce a first man fell; one but began
To wonder, and straight fell a wonder too;
A third, who stooped to raise his dying friend,
Dropt in the pious act.—Heard you that groan?[Groan within.

Dioc. A troop of ghosts took flight together there.
Now death's grown riotous, and will play no more
For single stakes, but families and tribes.
How are we sure we breathe not now our last,
And that, next minute,
Our bodies, cast into some common pit,
Shall not be built upon, and overlaid
By half a people?

Alc. There's a chain of causes
Linked to effects; invincible necessity,
That whate'er is, could not but so have been;
That's my security.

To them, enter Creon.

Cre. So had it need, when all our streets lie covered
133 With dead and dying men;
And earth exposes bodies on the pavements,
More than she hides in graves.
Betwixt the bride and bridegroom have I seen
The nuptial torch do common offices
Of marriage and of death.

Dioc. Now Œdipus
(If he return from war, our other plague)
Will scarce find half he left, to grace his triumphs.

Pyr. A feeble pæan will be sung before him.

Alc. He would do well to bring the wives and children
Of conquered Argians, to renew his Thebes.

Cre. May funerals meet him at the city gates,
With their detested omen!

Dioc. Of his children.

Cre. Nay, though she be my sister, of his wife.

Alc. O that our Thebes might once again behold
A monarch, Theban born!

Dioc. We might have had one.

Pyr. Yes, had the people pleased.

Cre. Come, you are my friends:
The queen my sister, after Laius' death,
Feared to lie single; and supplied his place
With a young successor.

Dioc. He much resembles
Her former husband too.

Alc. I always thought so.

Pyr. When twenty winters more have grizzled his black locks,
He will be very Laius.

Cre. So he will.
Meantime, she stands provided of a Laius,
More young, and vigorous too, by twenty springs.
These women are such cunning purveyors!
Mark, where their appetites have once been pleased,
The same resemblance, in a younger lover,
134 Lies brooding in their fancies the same pleasures,
And urges their remembrance to desire.

Dioc. Had merit, not her dotage, been considered;
Then Creon had been king; but Œdipus,
A stranger!

Cre. That word, stranger, I confess,
Sounds harshly in my ears.

Dioc. We are your creatures.
The people, prone, as in all general ills,
To sudden change; the king, in wars abroad;
The queen, a woman weak and unregarded;
Eurydice, the daughter of dead Laius,
A princess young and beauteous, and unmarried,—
Methinks, from these disjointed propositions,
Something might be produced.

Cre. The gods have done
Their part, by sending this commodious plague.
But oh, the princess! her hard heart is shut
By adamantine locks against my love.

Alc. Your claim to her is strong; you are betrothed.

Pyr. True, in her nonage.

Dioc. I heard the prince of Argos, young Adrastus,
When he was hostage here—

Cre. Oh name him not! the bane of all my hopes.
That hot-brained, head-long warrior, has the charms
Of youth, and somewhat of a lucky rashness,
To please a woman yet more fool than he.
That thoughtless sex is caught by outward form.
And empty noise, and loves itself in man.

Alc. But since the war broke out about our frontiers,
He's now a foe to Thebes.

Cre. But is not so to her. See, she appears;
Once more I'll prove my fortune. You insinuate
Kind thoughts of me into the multitude;
Lay load upon the court; gull them with freedom;
And you shall see them toss their tails, and gad,
As if the breeze had stung them.

135 Dioc. We'll about it. [Exeunt Alc. Dioc. and Pyr.

Enter Eurydice.

Cre. Hail, royal maid! thou bright Eurydice,
A lavish planet reigned when thou wert born,
And made thee of such kindred mould to heaven,
Thou seem'st more heaven's than ours.

Eur. Cast round your eyes,
Where late the streets were so thick sown with men,
Like Cadmus' brood, they jostled for the passage;
Now look for those erected heads, and see them,
Like pebbles, paving all our public ways;
When you have thought on this, then answer me,—
If these be hours of courtship?

Cre. Yes, they are;
For when the gods destroy so fast, 'tis time
We should renew the race.

Eur. What, in the midst of horror?

Cre. Why not then?
There's the more need of comfort.

Eur. Impious Creon!

Cre. Unjust Eurydice! can you accuse me
Of love, which is heaven's precept, and not fear
That vengeance, which you say pursues our crimes,
Should reach your perjuries?

Eur. Still the old argument.
I bade you cast your eyes on other men,
Now cast them on yourself; think what you are.

Cre. A man.

Eur. A man!

Cre. Why, doubt you I'm a man?

Eur. 'Tis well you tell me so; I should mistake you
For any other part o'the whole creation,
Rather than think you man. Hence from my sight,
Thou poison to my eyes!

136 Cre. 'Twas you first poisoned mine; and yet, methinks,
My face and person should not make you sport.

Eur. You force me, by your importunities,
To shew you what you are.

Cre. A prince, who loves you;
And, since your pride provokes me, worth your love.
Even at its highest value.

Eur. Love from thee!
Why love renounced thee ere thou saw'st the light;
Nature herself start back when thou wert born,
And cried,—the work's not mine.
The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw
Thy mountain back, and thy distorted legs,
Thy face itself;
Half-minted with the royal stamp of man,
And half o'ercome with beast, stood doubting long,
Whose right in thee were more;
And knew not, if to burn thee in the flames
Were not the holier work.

Cre. Am I to blame, if nature threw my body
In so perverse a mould? yet when she cast
Her envious hand upon my supple joints,
Unable to resist, and rumpled them
On heaps in their dark lodging, to revenge
Her bungled work, she stampt my mind more fair;
And as from chaos, huddled and deformed,
The god struck fire, and lighted up the lamps
That beautify the sky, so he informed
This ill-shaped body with a daring soul;
And, making less than man, he made me more.

Eur. No; thou art all one error, soul and body;
The first young trial of some unskilled power,
Rude in the making art, and ape of Jove.
Thy crooked mind within hunched out thy back,
And wandered in thy limbs. To thy own kind
Make love, if thou canst find it in the world;
137 And seek not from our sex to raise an offspring,
Which, mingled with the rest, would tempt the gods,
To cut off human kind.

Cre. No; let them leave
The Argian prince for you. That enemy
Of Thebes has made you false, and break the vows
You made to me.

Eur. They were my mother's vows,
Made when I was at nurse.

Cre. But hear me, maid:
This blot of nature, this deformed, loathed Creon,
Is master of a sword, to reach the blood
Of your young minion, spoil the gods' fine work,
And stab you in his heart.

Eur. This when thou dost,
Then mayst thou still be cursed with loving me;
And, as thou art, be still unpitied, loathed;
And let his ghost—No, let his ghost have rest—
But let the greatest, fiercest, foulest fury,
Let Creon haunt himself.[Exit Eur.

Cre. 'Tis true, I am
What she has told me—an offence to sight:
My body opens inward to my soul,
And lets in day to make my vices seen
By all discerning eyes, but the blind vulgar.
I must make haste, ere Œdipus return,
To snatch the crown and her—for I still love,
But love with malice. As an angry cur
Snarls while he feeds, so will I seize and stanch
The hunger of my love on this proud beauty,
And leave the scraps for slaves.

Enter Tiresias, leaning on a staff, and led by his Daughter Manto.

What makes this blind prophetic fool abroad?
Would his Apollo had him! he's too holy
138 For earth and me; I'll shun his walk, and seek
My popular friends.[Exit Creon.

Tir. A little farther; yet a little farther,
Thou wretched daughter of a dark old man,
Conduct my weary steps: And thou, who seest
For me and for thyself, beware thou tread not,
With impious steps, upon dead corps. Now stay;
Methinks I draw more open, vital air.
Where are we?

Man. Under covert of a wall;
The most frequented once, and noisy part
Of Thebes; now midnight silence reigns even here,
And grass untrodden springs beneath our feet.

Tir. If there be nigh this place a sunny bank,
There let me rest awhile:—A sunny bank!
Alas! how can it be, where no sun shines,
But a dim winking taper in the skies,
That nods, and scarce holds up his drowzy head,
To glimmer through the damps! [A Noise within. Follow, follow, follow! A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!
Hark! a tumultuous noise, and Creon's name
Thrice echoed.

Man. Fly, the tempest drives this way.

Tir. Whither can age and blindness take their flight?
If I could fly, what could I suffer worse,
Secure of greater ills? [Noise again, Creon, Creon, Creon!

Enter Creon, Diocles, Alcander, Pyracmon; followed by the Crowd.

Cre. I thank ye, countrymen; but must refuse
The honours you intend me; they're too great,
And I am too unworthy; think again,
And make a better choice.

1 Cit. Think twice! I ne'er thought twice in all my life;
That's double work.

139 2 Cit. My first word is always my second; and therefore I'll have no second word; and therefore, once again, I say, A Creon!

All. A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!

Cre. Yet hear me, fellow-citizens.

Dioc. Fellow-citizens! there was a word of kindness!

Alc. When did Œdipus salute you by that familiar name?

1 Cit. Never, never; he was too proud.

Cre. Indeed he could not, for he was a stranger;
But under him our Thebes is half destroyed.
Forbid it, heaven, the residue should perish
Under a Theban born!
'Tis true, the gods might send this plague among you,
Because a stranger ruled; but what of that?
Can I redress it now?

3 Cit. Yes, you or none.
'Tis certain that the gods are angry with us,
Because he reigns.

Cre. Œdipus may return; you may be ruined.

1 Cit. Nay, if that be the matter, we are ruined already.

2 Cit. Half of us, that are here present, were living men but yesterday; and we, that are absent, do but drop and drop, and no man knows whether he be dead or living. And therefore, while we are sound and well, let us satisfy our consciences, and make a new king.

3 Cit. Ha, if we were but worthy to see another coronation! and then, if we must die, we'll go merrily together.

All. To the question, to the question.

Dioc. Are you content, Creon should be your king?

All A Creon, A Creon, A Creon!

Tir. Hear me, ye Thebans, and thou Creon, hear me.

140 1 Cit. Who's that would be heard? we'll hear no man; we can scarce hear one another.

Tir. I charge you, by the gods, to hear me.

2 Cit. Oh, it is Apollo's priest, we must hear him; it is the old blind prophet, that sees all things.

3 Cit. He comes from the gods too, and they are our betters; and, in good manners, we must hear him:—Speak, prophet.

2 Cit. For coming from the gods, that's no great matter, they can all say that: but he is a great scholar; he can make almanacks, an' he were put to it; and therefore I say, hear him.

Tir. When angry heaven scatters its plagues among you,
Is it for nought, ye Thebans? are the gods
Unjust in punishing? are there no crimes,
Which pull this vengeance down?

1 Cit. Yes, yes; no doubt there are some sins stirring, that are the cause of all.

3 Cit. Yes, there are sins, or we should have no taxes.

2 Cit. For my part, I can speak it with a safe conscience, I never sinned in all my life.

1 Cit. Nor I.

3 Cit. Nor I.

2 Cit. Then we are all justified; the sin lies not at our doors.

Tir. All justified alike, and yet all guilty!
Were every man's false dealing brought to light,
His envy, malice, lying, perjuries,
His weights and measures, the other man's extortions,
With what face could you tell offended heaven,
You had not sinned?

2 Cit. Nay, if these be sins, the case is altered; for my part, I never thought any thing but murder had been a sin.

141 Tir. And yet, as if all these were less than nothing,
You add rebellion to them, impious Thebans!
Have you not sworn before the gods to serve
And to obey this Œdipus, your king
By public voice elected? answer me,
If this be true!

2 Cit. This is true; but its a hard world, neighbours,
If a man's oath must be his master.

Cre. Speak, Diocles; all goes wrong.

Dioc. How are you traitors, countrymen of Thebes?
This holy sire, who presses you with oaths,
Forgets your first; were you not sworn before
To Laius and his blood?

All. We were; we were.

Dioc. While Laius has a lawful successor,
Your first oath still must bind: Eurydice
Is heir to Laius; let her marry Creon.
Offended heaven will never be appeased,
While Œdipus pollutes the throne of Laius,
A stranger to his blood.

All. We'll no Œdipus, no Œdipus.

1 Cit. He puts the prophet in a mouse-hole.

2 Cit. I knew it would be so; the last man ever speaks the best reason.

Tir. Can benefits thus die, ungrateful Thebans!
Remember yet, when, after Laius' death,
The monster Sphinx laid your rich country waste,
Your vineyards spoiled, your labouring oxen slew,
Yourselves for fear mewed up within your walls;
She, taller than your gates, o'er-looked your town;
But when she raised her bulk to sail above you,
She drove the air around her like a whirlwind,
And shaded all beneath; till, stooping down,
142 She clap'd her leathern wing against your towers,
And thrust out her long neck, even to your doors [2].

Dioc. Alc. Pyr. We'll hear no more.

Tir. You durst not meet in temples,
To invoke the gods for aid; the proudest he,
Who leads you now, then cowered, like a dared[3] lark:
This Creon shook for fear,
The blood of Laius curdled in his veins,
'Till Œdipus arrived.
Called by his own high courage and the gods,
Himself to you a god, ye offered him
Your queen and crown; (but what was then your crown!)
And heaven authorized it by his success.
Speak then, who is your lawful king?

All. 'Tis Œdipus.

Tir. 'Tis Œdipus indeed: Your king more lawful
Than yet you dream; for something still there lies
In heaven's dark volume, which I read through mists:
'Tis great, prodigious; 'tis a dreadful birth,
Of wondrous fate; and now, just now disclosing.
I see, I see! how terrible it dawns,
And my soul sickens with it!

1 Cit. How the god shakes him!

Tir. He comes, he comes! Victory! conquest! triumph!
143 But oh! guiltless and guilty: murder! parricide!
Incest! discovery! punishment—'tis ended,
And all your sufferings o'er.

A Trumpet within: enter Hæmon.

Hæm. Rouse up, you Thebans; tune your Io Pæans!
Your king returns; the Argians are o'ercome;
Their warlike prince in single combat taken,
And led in bands by god-like Œdipus!

All. Œdipus, Œdipus, Œdipus!

Creon. Furies confound his fortune!—[Aside.
Haste, all haste,[To them.
And meet with blessings our victorious king;
Decree processions; bid new holidays;
Crown all the statues of our gods with garlands;
And raise a brazen column, thus inscribed,—
To Œdipus, now twice a conqueror; deliverer of his Thebes.
Trust me, I weep for joy to see this day.

Tir. Yes, heaven knows why thou weep'st.—Go, countrymen,
And, as you use to supplicate your gods,
So meet your king with bays, and olive branches;
Bow down, and touch his knees, and beg from him
An end of all your woes; for only he
Can give it you. [Exit Tiresias, the People following.

Enter Œdipus in triumph; Adrastus prisoner; Dymas, Train.

Cre. All hail, great Œdipus!
Thou mighty conqueror, hail; welcome to Thebes;
To thy own Thebes; to all that's left of Thebes;
For half thy citizens are swept away,
And wanting for thy triumphs;
144 And we, the happy remnant, only live
To welcome thee, and die.

Œdip. Thus pleasure never comes sincere to man,
But lent by heaven upon hard usury;
And while Jove holds us out the bowl of joy,
Ere it can reach our lips, 'tis dashed with gall
By some left-handed god. O mournful triumph!
O conquest gained abroad, and lost at home!
O Argos, now rejoice, for Thebes lies low!
Thy slaughtered sons now smile, and think they won,
When they can count more Theban ghosts than theirs.

Adr. No; Argos mourns with Thebes; you tempered so
Your courage while you fought, that mercy seemed
The manlier virtue, and much more prevailed;
While Argos is a people, think your Thebes
Can never want for subjects. Every nation
Will crowd to serve where Œdipus commands.

Cre. [To Hæm.] How mean it shews, to fawn upon the victor!

Hæm. Had you beheld him fight, you had said otherwise.
Come, 'tis brave bearing in him, not to envy
Superior virtue.

Œdip. This indeed is conquest,
To gain a friend like you: Why were we foes?

Adr. 'Cause we were kings, and each disdained an equal.
I fought to have it in my power to do
What thou hast done, and so to use my conquest.
To shew thee, honour was my only motive,
Know this, that were my army at thy gates,
And Thebes thus waste, I would not take the gift,
Which, like a toy dropt from the hands of fortune,
Lay for the next chance-comer.

145 Œdip. [Embracing.] No more captive,
But brother of the war. 'Tis much more pleasant,
And safer, trust me, thus to meet thy love,
Than when hard gauntlets clenched our warlike hands,
And kept them from soft use.

Adr. My conqueror!

Œdip. My friend! that other name keeps enmity alive.
But longer to detain thee were a crime;
To love, and to Eurydice, go free.
Such welcome, as a ruined town can give,
Expect from me; the rest let her supply.

Adr. I go without a blush, though conquered twice,
By you, and by my princess.[Exit Adrastus.

Cre. [Aside.] Then I am conquered thrice; by Œdipus,
And her, and even by him, the slave of both.
Gods, I'm beholden to you, for making me your image;
Would I could make you mine![Exit Creon.

Enter the People with branches in their hands, holding them up, and kneeling: Two Priests before them.

Œdip. Alas, my people!
What means this speechless sorrow, downcast eyes,
And lifted hands? If there be one among you,
Whom grief has left a tongue, speak for the rest.

1 Pr. O father of thy country!
To thee these knees are bent, these eyes are lifted,
As to a visible divinity;
A prince, on whom heaven safely might repose
The business of mankind; for Providence
Might on thy careful bosom sleep secure,
And leave her task to thee.
But where's the glory of thy former acts?
Even that's destroyed, when none shall live to speak it.
Millions of subjects shalt thou have; but mute.
146 A people of the dead; a crowded desert;
A midnight silence at the noon of day.

Œdip. O were our gods as ready with their pity,
As I with mine, this presence should be thronged
With all I left alive; and my sad eyes
Not search in vain for friends, whose promised sight
Flattered my toils of war.

1 Pr. Twice our deliverer!

Œdip. Nor are now your vows
Addrest to one who sleeps.
When this unwelcome news first reached my ears,
Dymas was sent to Delphos, to enquire
The cause and cure of this contagious ill,
And is this day returned; but, since his message
Concerns the public, I refused to hear it
But in this general presence: Let him speak.

Dym. A dreadful answer from the hallowed urn,
And sacred tripos, did the priestess give,
In these mysterious words.

The Oracle. Shed in a cursed hour, by cursed hand,
Blood-royal unrevenged has cursed the land.
When Laius' death is expiated well,
Your plague shall cease. The rest let Laius tell.

Œdip. Dreadful indeed! Blood, and a king's blood too!
And such a king's, and by his subjects shed!
(Else why this curse on Thebes?) No wonder then
If monsters, wars, and plagues, revenge such crimes!
If heaven be just, its whole artillery,
All must be emptied on us: Not one bolt
Shall err from Thebes; but more be called for, more;
New-moulded thunder of a larger size,
Driven by whole Jove. What, touch anointed power!
Then, Gods, beware; Jove would himself be next,
Could you but reach him too.

2 Pr. We mourn the sad remembrance.

Œdip. Well you may;
147 Worse than a plague infects you: You're devoted
To mother earth, and to the infernal powers;
Hell has a right in you. I thank you, gods,
That I'm no Theban born: How my blood curdles!
As if this curse touched me, and touched me nearer
Than all this presence!—Yes, 'tis a king's blood,
And I, a king, am tied in deeper bonds
To expiate this blood. But where, from whom,
Or how must I atone it? Tell me, Thebans,
How Laius fell; for a confused report
Passed through my ears, when first I took the crown;
But full of hurry, like a morning dream,
It vanished in the business of the day.[4]

1 Pr. He went in private forth, but thinly followed,
And ne'er returned to Thebes.

Œdip. Nor any from him? came there no attendant?
None to bring news?

2 Pr. But one; and he so wounded,
He scarce drew breath to speak some few faint words.

Œdip. What were they? something may be learnt from thence.

1 Pr. He said, a band of robbers watched their passage,
Who took advantage of a narrow way,
To murder Laius and the rest; himself
Left too for dead.

Œdip. Made you no more enquiry,
But took this bare relation?

2 Pr. 'Twas neglected;
For then the monster Sphinx began to rage,
And present cares soon buried the remote:
So was it hushed, and never since revived.

148 Œdip. Mark, Thebans, mark!
Just then, the Sphinx began to rage among you;
The gods took hold even of the offending minute,
And dated thence your woes: Thence will I trace them.

1 Pr. 'Tis just thou should'st.

Œdip. Hear then this dreadful imprecation; hear it;
'Tis laid on all; not any one exempt:
Bear witness, heaven, avenge it on the perjured!
If any Theban born, if any stranger
Reveal this murder, or produce its author,
Ten attick talents be his just reward:
But if, for fear, for favour, or for hire,
The murderer he conceal, the curse of Thebes
Fall heavy on his head: Unite our plagues,
Ye gods, and place them there: From fire and water,
Converse, and all things common, be he banished.
But for the murderer's self, unfound by man,
Find him, ye powers celestial and infernal!
And the same fate, or worse than Laius met,
Let be his lot: His children be accurst;
His wife and kindred, all of his, be cursed!

Both Pr. Confirm it, heaven!

Enter Jocasta, attended by Women.

Joc. At your devotions? Heaven succeed your wishes;
And bring the effect of these your pious prayers
On you, and me, and all.

Pr. Avert this omen, heaven!

Œdip. O fatal sound! unfortunate Jocasta!
What hast thou said! an ill hour hast thou chosen
For these fore-boding words! why, we were cursing!

Joc. Then may that curse fall only where you laid it.

Œdip. Speak no more!
For all thou say'st is ominous: We were cursing;
149 And that dire imprecation has thou fastened
On Thebes, and thee, and me, and all of us.

Joc. Are then my blessings turned into a curse?
O unkind Œdipus! My former lord
Thought me his blessing; be thou like my Laius.

Œdip. What, yet again? the third time hast thou cursed me:
This imprecation was for Laius' death,
And thou hast wished me like him.

Joc. Horror seizes me!

Œdip. Why dost thou gaze upon me? pr'ythee, love,
Take off thy eye; it burdens me too much.

Joc. The more I look, the more I find of Laius:
His speech, his garb, his action; nay, his frown,—
For I have seen it,—but ne'er bent on me.

EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY LIMBERHAM.

ŒDIPUS.

A TRAGEDY.

ŒDIPUS.

PREFACE.

PROLOGUE.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ŒDIPUS.

ACT I. SCENE I.—The Curtain rises to a plaintive Tune, representing the present condition of Thebes; dead Bodies appear at a distance in the Streets; some faintly go over the Stage, others drop.

EPILOGUE.
SPOKEN BY LIMBERHAM.

A
TRAGEDY.

ACT I.
SCENE I.—The Curtain rises to a plaintive Tune, representing the present condition of Thebes; dead Bodies appear at a distance in the Streets; some faintly go over the Stage, others drop.