dark to ban And slay me; sending first this magic-man And schemer, this false beggar-priest, whose eye Is bright for gold and blind for prophecy? Speak, thou. When hast thou ever shown thee strong For aid? The She-Wolf of the woven song Came, and thy art could find no word, no breath, To save thy people from her riddling death. ’Twas scarce a secret, that, for common men To unravel. There was need of Seer-craft then. And thou hadst none to show. No fowl, no flame, No God revealed it thee. ’Twas I that came, Rude Oedipus, unlearned in wizard’s lore, And read her secret, and she spoke no more. Whom now thou thinkest to hunt out, and stand Foremost in honour at King Creon’s hand. I think ye will be sorry, thou and he That shares thy sin-hunt. Thou dost look to me An old man; else, I swear this day should bring On thee the death thou plottest for thy King.
Leader.
Lord Oedipus, these be but words of wrath, All thou hast spoke and all the Prophet hath. Which skills not. We must join, for ill or well, In search how best to obey God’s oracle.
Tiresias.
King though thou art, thou needs must bear the right Of equal answer. Even in me is might For thus much, seeing I live no thrall of thine, But Lord Apollo’s; neither do I sign Where Creon bids me. I am blind, and thou Hast mocked my blindness. Yea, I will speak now. Eyes hast thou, but thy deeds thou canst not see Nor where thou art, nor what things dwell with thee. Whence art thou born? Thou know’st not; and unknown, On quick and dead, on all that were thine own, Thou hast wrought hate. For that across thy path Rising, a mother’s and a father’s wrath, Two-handed, shod with fire, from the haunts of men Shall scourge thee, in thine eyes now light, but then Darkness. Aye, shriek! What harbour of the sea, What wild Kithairon shall not cry to thee In answer, when thou hear’st what bridal song, What wind among the torches, bore thy strong Sail to its haven, not of peace but blood. Yea, ill things multitude on multitude Thou seest not, which so soon shall lay thee low, Low as thyself, low as thy children.—Go, Heap scorn on Creon and my lips withal: For this I tell thee, never was there fall Of pride, nor shall be, like to thine this day.
Oedipus.
To brook such words from this thing? Out, I say! Out to perdition! Aye, and quick, before …
[The Leader restrains him.
Enough then!—Turn and get thee from my door.
Tiresias.
I had not come hadst thou not called me here.
Oedipus.
I knew thee not so dark a fool. I swear ’Twere long before I called thee, had I known.
Tiresias.
Fool, say’st thou? Am I truly such an one? The two who gave thee birth, they held me wise.
Oedipus.
Birth? … Stop! Who were they? Speak thy prophecies.4
Tiresias.
This day shall give thee birth and blot thee out.
Oedipus.
Oh, riddles everywhere and words of doubt!
Tiresias.
Aye. Thou wast their best reader long ago.
Oedipus.
Laugh on. I swear thou still shalt find me so.
Tiresias.
That makes thy pride and thy calamity.
Oedipus.
I have saved this land, and care not if I die.
Tiresias.
Then I will go.—Give me thine arm, my child.
Oedipus.
Aye, help him quick.—To see him there makes wild My heart. Once gone, he will not vex me more.