Yea, and this arm that slew him now enfolds
His queen. O cruel stain! Am I not vile?
Polluted utterly! Yes, I must flee,
And, lost to Thebè, nevermore behold
My home, nor tread my country, lest I meet
In marriage mine own mother, and bring low
His head that gave me life and reared my youth,
My father, Polybus. Ah! right were he
Who should declare some god of cruel mood
Had sent this trouble upon my soul! Ye Powers,
Worshipped in holiness, ne’er may I see
That day, but perish from the sight of men,
Ere sins like these be branded on my name!
Ch. Thy fear is ours, O king: yet lose not hope,
Till thou hast heard the witness of the deed.
Oed. Ay, that is all I still have left of hope,
To bide the coming of the shepherd man.
Jo. What eager thought attends his presence here?
Oed. I’ll tell thee. Should his speech accord with thine,
My life stands clear from this calamity.
Jo. What word of mine agreed not with the scene?
Oed. You said he spake of robbers in a band
As having slain him. Now if he shall still
Persist in the same number, I am free.
One man and many cannot be the same.
But should he tell of one lone traveller,
Then, unavoidably, this falls on me.
Jo. So ’twas given out by him, be sure of that.
He cannot take it back. Not I alone
But all the people heard him speak it so.
And should he swerve in aught from his first tale,
He ne’er can show the murder of the king
Rightly accordant with the oracle.
For Phoebus said expressly he should fall
Through him whom I brought forth. But that poor babe
Ne’er slew his sire, but perished long before.
Wherefore henceforth I will pursue my way
Regardless of all words of prophecy.
