HKB
JOCASTA. What! is he dead, the sire of Oedipus?
MESSENGER. If I speak falsely, may I die myself.
JOCASTA. Quick, maiden, bear these tidings to my lord. Ye god-sent oracles, where stand ye now! This is the man whom Oedipus long shunned, In dread to prove his murderer; and now He dies in nature’s course, not by his hand. [Enter OEDIPUS.]
OEDIPUS. My wife, my queen, Jocasta, why hast thou Summoned me from my palace?
JOCASTA. Hear this man, And as thou hearest judge what has become Of all those awe-inspiring oracles.
OEDIPUS. Who is this man, and what his news for me?
JOCASTA. He comes from Corinth and his message this: Thy father Polybus hath passed away.
OEDIPUS. What? let me have it, stranger, from thy mouth.
MESSENGER. If I must first make plain beyond a doubt My message, know that Polybus is dead.
OEDIPUS. By treachery, or by sickness visited?
MESSENGER. One touch will send an old man to his rest.
OEDIPUS. So of some malady he died, poor man.
MESSENGER. Yes, having measured the full span of years.
OEDIPUS. Out on it, lady! why should one regard The Pythian hearth or birds that scream i’ the air? Did they not point at me as doomed to slay My father? but he’s dead and in his grave And here am I who ne’er unsheathed a sword; Unless the longing for his absent son Killed him and so I slew him in a sense. But, as they stand, the oracles are dead— Dust, ashes, nothing, dead as Polybus.
JOCASTA. Say, did not I foretell this long ago?
OEDIPUS. Thou didst: but I was misled by my fear.
JOCASTA. Then let I no more weigh upon thy soul.
OEDIPUS. Must I not fear my mother’s marriage bed.
JOCASTA. Why should a mortal man, the sport of chance, With no assured foreknowledge, be afraid? Best live a careless life from hand to mouth. This wedlock with thy mother fear not thou. How oft it chances that in dreams a man Has wed his mother! He who least regards Such brainsick phantasies lives most at ease.
OEDIPUS. I should have shared in full thy confidence, Were not my mother living; since she lives Though half convinced I still must live in dread.
JOCASTA. And yet thy sire’s death lights out darkness much.
OEDIPUS. Much, but my fear is touching her who lives.
MESSENGER. Who may this woman be whom thus you fear?
OEDIPUS. Merope, stranger, wife of Polybus.
MESSENGER. And what of her can cause you any fear?
OEDIPUS. A heaven-sent oracle of dread import.
MESSENGER. A mystery, or may a stranger hear it?
OEDIPUS. Aye, ’tis no secret. Loxias once foretold That I should mate with mine own mother, and shed With my own hands the blood of my own sire. Hence Corinth was for many a year to me A home distant; and I trove abroad, But missed the sweetest sight, my parents’ face.
MESSENGER. Was this the fear that exiled thee from home?
OEDIPUS. Yea, and the dread of slaying my own sire.
MESSENGER. Why, since I came to give thee pleasure, King, Have I not rid thee of this second fear?
OEDIPUS. Well, thou shalt have due guerdon for thy pains.
MESSENGER. Well, I confess what chiefly made me come Was hope to profit by thy coming home.
OEDIPUS. Nay, I will ne’er go near my parents more.
MESSENGER. My son, ’tis plain, thou know’st not what thou doest.
OEDIPUS. How so, old man? For heaven’s sake tell me all.
MESSENGER. If this is why thou dreadest to return.
OEDIPUS. Yea, lest the god’s word be fulfilled in me.
MESSENGER. Lest through thy parents thou shouldst be accursed?
OEDIPUS. This and none other is my constant dread.
MESSENGER. Dost thou not know thy fears are baseless all?
OEDIPUS. How baseless, if I am their very son?
MESSENGER. Since Polybus was naught to thee in blood.
OEDIPUS. What say’st thou? was not Polybus my sire?