Enter Creon.
Creon.
Good brother citizens, a frantic word
I hear is spoken by our chosen Lord
Oedipus against me, and here am come
Indignant. If he dreams, ’mid all this doom
That weighs upon us, he hath had from me
Or deed or lightest thought of injury, . . .
’Fore God, I have no care to see the sun
Longer with such a groaning name. Not one
Wound is it, but a multitude, if now
All Thebes must hold me guilty,—aye, and thou
And all who loved me—of a deed so foul.
Leader.
If words were spoken, it was scarce the soul
That spoke them: ’twas some sudden burst of wrath.
Creon.
The charge was made, then, that Tiresias hath
Made answer false, and that I bribed him, I?
Leader.
It was—perchance for jest. I know not why.
Creon.
His heart beat true, his eyes looked steadily
And fell not, laying such a charge on me?
Leader.
I know not. I have no eyes for the thing
My masters do.—But see, here comes the King.
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