Classic Audiobook Collection - Oedipus Rex by Sophocles ~ Full Audiobook [tragedy]

Episode Date: July 3, 2026

Oedipus Rex by Sophocles audiobook. Genre: tragedy In Sophocles' Oedipus Rex, the proud and celebrated king of Thebes faces a crisis that threatens both his city and his own sense of identity. A deadly plague has fallen over the land, and Oedipus, determined to save his people, vows to uncover the cause. His search leads him into a tense and increasingly dangerous investigation tied to an old, unresolved crime. As he questions witnesses, consults prophets, and clashes with those closest to him, Oedipus reveals himself as a ruler of fierce intelligence, courage, and stubborn will. Around him stand Queen Jocasta, whose loyalty is shadowed by fear, and the blind seer Tiresias, whose words challenge everything Oedipus believes about truth and power. What begins as a royal duty becomes a relentless pursuit of knowledge, where each answer opens a darker question. With its tightly woven plot, emotional intensity, and powerful themes of fate, pride, blindness, and self-discovery, this ancient drama remains one of the most gripping and influential works in world literature. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:48:22) Chapter 2 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Oedipus the King, by Sophocles. Translation by F. Storr. Seen. Thebes. Before the palace of Oedipus. Suppliants of all ages are seated round the altar at the palace doors, at their head a priest of Zeus. To them enter Oedipus.

My children, latest born to Cadmus old, Why sit ye here as suppliants? In your hands branches of olive, filleted with wool? What means this reek of incense everywhere, and everywhere laments and litanies? Children, it were not meet, that I should learn from others, and them hither come myself. I, Oedipus, your world-renowned king! O aged sire, whose venerable locks proclaim the spokesman of this company, Explain your mood and purport.

Is it dread of ill that moves you, or a boon ye crave? my zeal in your behalf ye cannot doubt ruthless indeed were i and obdurate if such petitioners as you i spurned yea edipus my sovereign lord and king thou seest how both extremes of age besieged thy palace altars fledglings hardly winged and grey beards bowed with years priests azami of zeus and these are the flower of our youth meanwhile the common folk with wreathed boughs crowd our two market-places or before both shrines of palace congregate or where ismenes gives his oracles by fire for as thou seest thyself our ship of state saw buffeted can no more lift her head founded beneath a weltering surge of blood a blight is on our harvest in the ear a blight upon the grazing flocks and herds a blight on wives in travail and withal armed with his blazing torch the god of plague hath swooped upon our city emptying the house of Cadmus, and the murky realm of Pluto is full fed with groans and tears. Therefore, O King, here at thy hearth we sit. I in these children, not as deeming thee a new divinity, but the first of men, first in the common accidents of life, and first in visitations to the gods.

Art thou not he who come into the town of Cadmus freed us from the tax we pay to the fell songstress? nor hath thou received prompting from us or been by other schools no by a god inspired so all men deem and testify didst thou in you our life and now o o oedipus our peerless king all we thy votaries beseech thee find some succour whether by a voice from heaven whispered or haply known by human wit tried counsellors methinks our aptest found to furnish for the future pregnant reed appraise o chief of men appraise our state look to thy laurels for thy zeal of yore our country's saviour thou art justly hailed O, never may we thus record thy reign, He raised us up, only to cast us down. Uplift us, build our city on a rock. Thy happy star ascendant brought us luck. O let it not decline!

If thou wast rule this land as now thou reigns, better sure to rule a people than a desert realm. Nor battlements, nor galleys ought to veil. If men to man and guards to guard, "'Ah, my poor children, known, ah, known too well, "'the quest that brings you hither and your need. "'Y sick and all, well what I? "'Yed my pain, how great soever yours, out-tops it all. "'Your sorrow touches each man severally, him and none other,

"'but I grieve at once, both for the general and myself and you. "'Therefore ye rouse no sluggard from day-dreams. many my children are the tears i've wept and threaded many a maze of weary thought thus pondering one clue of hope i caught and tracked it up i have sent menaceus's son creon my consort's brother to inquire of pithian phoebus at his delphic shrine how i might save the state by act or word and now i reckon up the tale of days since he set forth and marvel how he fares "'Tis strange this endless tarrying, passing strange. "'But when he comes, then were I base indeed, "'if I perform not all the God declares.' "'By words are well-timed,

"'even as thou speakest, that shouting tells me Creon is at hand. "'O King Apollo, may his joyous looks "'be presage of the joyous news he brings.' "'As I surmise, "'tis welcome, else his head has scarce been crowned "'Berry-laden bays.' We shall soon know. He's now in earshot range.

Enter Crian. My royal cousin say, Menaceus' child, What message hast thou brought us from the guard? Good news, for in intolerable ills, finding right issue, tend to naught but good. How runs the oracle? Thus far, thy words give me no ground for confidence or fear. If thou wouldst hear my message publicly,

I'll tell thee straight, or with thee pass within. Speak before all. The burden that I bear is more for these my subjects than myself. Let me report, then, all the God declared. King Phoebus bids us straightly extirpate a fell pollution that infests the land, and no more harbor an inveterate soar. What expiation means he? What's amiss?

Benishment. Or the shedding blood for blood. This stain of blood make shipwreck of our state. Whom can he mean, the miscreant thus denounced? Before thou didst assume the helm of state, the sovereign of this land was Laus. I heard as much, but never saw the man. He fell, and now the God's command is plain. Punish his takers off, where they may be.

Where are they? Where in the wide world to find the far faint traces of a bygone crime? In this land, said the God, Who seeks shall find, who sits with a far, folded hands or sleeps is blind. Was he within his palace or a field, or travelling, when Laos met his fate? Abroad. He started, so he told us, bound for Delphi, but he never thence returned. Came there no news, no fellow traveller, to give some clue that might be followed up?

But one escape, who, flying for dear life, could tell of all he saw but one thing sure. And what was that? One clue might lead us far, with but a-reve-but-a-law. a spark of hope to guide our quest. Robbers, he told us. Not one bandit, but a troop of knaves attacked and murdered him. Did any bandit dare so bold a stroke, unless indeed he were suborn from thieves? So it was surmised, but none was found to avenge his murder, mid the trouble that ensued.

What trouble can have hindered a full quest, when royalty had fallen thus miserably. The riddling Sphinx compelled us to let slide the dim past, and a tenor. end to instant needs. Well, I will start afresh, and once again make dark things clear. Write worthy the concern of Phoebus, worthy thine too for the dead. I also, as his meat, will lend by aid to avenge the wrong to Thebes and to the god. Not for some far-off kinsman, but myself shall I expel this poison in the blood. For whoso slew that king might have a mind to strike me too with his assassin,

hand. Therefore, in writing him, I serve myself. Up, children, hasty, quit these altar stairs. Take hence your suppliant ones. Go summon hither the Theban commons. With God's good help, success is sure. It is ruined if we fail. Exeunt Etyper sent Crian. Come, children, let us hence. These gracious words forestall the very purpose of our suit. and may the God who sent this oracle save us with all and rid us of this pest Exeant, priest and suppliants Sweet voice, daughter of Zeus

From my gold-paved pithing shrine Wafed to Thebes divine, What dost thou bring me? My soul is wracked and shivers with fear, Healer of Delos here, Hast thou some pain unknown before, Or with the circling years renewest, penance, your offspring of golden hope thou voice immortal oh tell me first on athene i call o zeus-born goddess defend goddess and sister befriend artemus lady of thieves high-throwned in the midst of our mart

lord of the death-winged cart or three-fold aid i crave from death and ruin our city to save if in the days of old when we nigh and perished Ye drave from our land the fiery plague Be near us now and defend us Ammy what countless woes are mine All our host is in decline Weaponless my spirit lies Earth her gracious fruits denies Women wail and barren throes

Life on life downstricken goes Swifter than the wind-birds flight Swifter than the fire gods might to the western shores of night. Wasted thus by death on death, all our city perishes. Corses spread infection round. None to tend or mourn is found.

Whaling on the altar stair, wives and grandams rend the air. Long-drawn moans and piercing cries, blent with prayers and litanies. Golden child of Zeus, oh here, let thine angel face appear. And grand, that Ares, whose hot breath I feel,

though without targe or steel he stalks, whose voice is as the battle shout may turn in sudden route to the unharbored Thracian water sped or amphitrates bed, for what night, when he was undone, smit by the morrow's son, perishing.

Father Zeus, whose hand doth wield the lightning brand, slay him beneath thy levine bold. We pray, Slay him, O slay! O that thine arrows too, Lishian king, From that taut bow's gold string might fly abroad, The champions of our rites, Yea, and the flashing lights of Artemis,

Wherewith the hunter's sweeps across the Lishian steeps. Th, I call, with golden, snotted hair, Whose name are land doth bare, Bacchus to whom thy menids, Evo shot. come with thy bright torch rout Live God who we adore The God who gods abhor Enter Oedipus

Ye pray Tis well But would ye hear my words and heed them And apply the remedy Ye might perchance find comfort and relief Mind you I speak as one who comes a stranger To this ripple no less than to the crime For how unaidied could I track it far without a clue

which lacking, for too late was I enrolled a citizen of Thebes, this proclamation I addressed to all. Thebans, if any knows the man by whom Laus, son of Labdarkas, was slain, I summon him to make clean shrift to me, and if he shrinks, let him reflect that, thus confessing, he shall escape the capital charge, for the worst penalty that shall befall him is banishment, unscathed he shall depart but if an alien from a foreign land be known to any as the murderer let him who knows speak out and he shall have due recompense from me and thanks to boot

But if ye still keep silence, if through fear for self or friends, ye disregard my Hest, Here what I then resolve, I lay my ban on the assassin whoso'er he be. Let no man in this land, whereof I hold the sovereign rule, harbour, or speak to him. Give him no part in prayer, or sacrifice, or lustral rights, but hound him from your homes, for this is our defilement. so the god hath lately shown to me by oracles thus as their champion i maintain the cause both of the god and the murdered king and on the murderer this curse i lay on him and all the partners in his guilt wretch may he pine in utter wretchedness and for myself if with my privity he gain admittance to my hearth i pray the cursed i laid on others fall on me see that ye give effect to all my hest for my sake and the gods and for our land a desert blasted by the wrath of heaven for let alone the gods express command it were a scandal ye should leave unpurged the murder of a great man and your king nor track it home and now that i am lord successor to his throne his bed his wife and had he not been frustrate in the home of issue common children of one womb had forced a closer bond twixt him and me

but fate swooped down upon him therefore i his blood avenger will maintain his cause as though he were my sire's and leave no stone unturned to track the assassin or avenger's or avenger's cause as though he were my sire's and leave no stone unturned to track the assassin or avenger's the sun of Labdarkus, of Polydor, of Cadmus, and Againo, first of the race. And for the disobedient thus I pray, may the gods send them neither timely fruits of earth nor teemy increase of the womb. But may they waste and pine, as now they waste, and worse stricken. But to all of you, my loyal subjects who approve my acts, May justice our ally And all the gods be gracious And attend you evermore

The oath thou profferous sire I take and swear I slew him not myself Nor can I name the slayer For the quest T'erwell he thinks That Phoebus who proposed the riddle Himself should give the answer

Who the murderer was Well argued But no living man can hope To force the gods to speak against their will. May I then say what seems next best to me? Aye, if there be a third best, tell it too. My liege, if any man sees eye to eye with our Lord Phoebus, to the prophet Lord Tyresius,

He of all men best might guide a searcher of this matter to the light. Here too my zeal has nothing lacked, for twice such Crian's instance have I sent to fetch him, and long I marvel why he is not here. I mind me too of rumors long ago. Mere gossip. Tell them, I would fain no all. Twas said he fell by travellers.

So I heard, but none has seen the man who saw him fall. Well, if he knows what fear is, he will quail and flee before the terror of thy curse. Words scare not him, who blenches not at deeds. But here is one to arraign him. Lo, at length, they bring the God-inspired seer in, Whom above all other man is truth inborn. Enter Tyresius, led by a boy. Tyresius, seer who comprehendest all.

Lord of the wise and hidden mysteries, high things of heaven and low things of the earth. Thou knowest, though thy blinded eyes see naught, what plague infects our city? And we turn to thee, O seer, our one defence and shield. The purport of the answer that the God returned to us

who saw his oracle, the messengers, how doubtless told thee, how one course alone could rid us of the pest to find the murderers of Laus and slay them or expel them from the land. Therefore, begrudging,

neither augury nor other divination that is thine, O, save thyself, thy country and thy king! Save all from this defy-fired, of bloodshed. On thee we rest. This is man's highest end. To others service all his powers to then. Alas, alas! What misery to be wise! When wisdom profits nothing, this old lore had forgotten, ails I were not here. What ails thee? Why this melancholy mood?

Let me go home. Prevent me not, to a best that thou should spare thy burden, and I mine. For shame! No true-born Theban patriot were thus with hold. the word of prophecy. Thy words, O King, are wide of the mark, And I for fear, lest I chew trip like thee. O speak, withhold not, I adjure thee, if thou know'st thy knowledge. We are all thy suppliance. I, for ye all are witless,

But my voice will ne'er reveal my miseries, or thine. What then, thou knowest, and yet wilt not speak? Wouldst thou betray us and destroy the state? I will not vex myself, nor thee. Why ask thus idly What from me thou shalt not learn Monster Thy silence would incense a flint

Will nothing loose thy tongue Can nothing melt thee Or shake thy dogged taciturnity Thou blames'st my mood And see's not thy known Wherewith thou art made it No thou taxest me And who could stay his collar

When he heard how insolently Thou dost flout the state Well it will come what will Thou I be mute. Since come it must, Thy beauty is to tell me. I have no more to say. The stormest thou willest,

And give the rain to all thy pent-up rage. Yea, I am wroth, And wilt not stint my words, But speak my whole mind. Thou methinks thou art he, Who planned the crime? I, and performed it too. All save the assassination,

And if thou hadst not been blind, I had been sworn to boot that thou alone didst do the bloody deed. If it so, then I charge thee to abide by thine own proclamation, must they speak not to these or me, thou art the man, thou the accursed pollution of this land. Mild slanderer, thou blotest forth these taunts, and thinks forsooth as seared to go scot free?

Yeah, I am free, strong the strength of truth. Who was thy teacher, not methinks thy art? Thou goading me against my will to speak. What speech? Repeat it, and resolve my doubt. Dismiss my sense, wouldst thou goad me on. I but half caught thy meaning. Say it again.

I say thou art the murder of the man whose murder thou pursuest. Thou shalt rue it twice to repeat so gross a calumny. Must I say more to aggravate thy rage? Say all thou wilt. It will be but waste of breath. I say thou livest with thy nearest skin in infamy, unwitting in my shame. Think'st thou, for aye unscath to wag thy tongue? Yea, if the mitreth can aught prevail. With other men, but not with thee,

for thou in ear, wit, eye in everything, aren't blind. Poor fool, and utter gibes at me which all hear prudemal cast back on thee ere long. Offspring of endless night, thou hast no power or me or any man who sees the sun. "'No, for thy weird is not to fall by me. "'I leave Shapiro what concerns the God.' "'Is this a plot of Creon or thine own?' "'Not Creon. "'Thou myself art thine own bane.'

"'Oh, wealth and emperry and skill by skill outwitted in the battlefield of life, "'what spite and envy following your train! "'See, for this crown the state conferred on me a gift, "'a thing I thought. not, for this crown the trusty Crian, my familiar friend, hath laid in weight to oust me, and so born this mountebank, this juggling charlatan, this trixy beggar priest, for gain alone keen-eyed, but in his proper art stone blind. Say, sirrah, hast thou ever proved thyself a profit?

When the riddling sphinx was here, why hadst thou no deliverance? for this folk, and yet the riddle was not to be solved by guesswork, but required the prophets art, wherein thou wast found lacking, neither birds nor sign from heaven help thee, but I came the simple edifice, I stopped her mouth by mother wit, untold of auguries. This is the man thou wouldst under mine, in hope to reign with creon in my stead. that thou and thine abettor soon will rule your plot to drive the scapegoat out thank thy grey hairs that thou hast still to learn what chastisement such arrogance deserves to us it seems that both seer and now o o oedipus have spoken angry words this is no time to wrangle but consult how best we may fulfil the oracle King as thou art, free speech at least is mine. To make reply in this I am thy peer, I owe no lord but Loxius,

Herm, I serve, and ne'er can stand and roll as Creon's man, thus then I answer. Since thou hast not spared to twit me with my blindness, thou hast eyes, yet seest not in what misery thou art fallen, nor where thou dwellest nor with whom for mate, dost know thy lineage, nay thou know thou know thy lineage, nay, thou know is it not, and all unwitting art of the double foe. To thine own kin, to thine own kin, the living and the dead, I, and the dogging curse of mother and sire one day shall drive thee, like a two-edged sword, beyond our borders, and the eyes that now, see clear, shall henceforward endless night. Ah, whither shall thy bitter cry not reach, which crag and o cytheron, but shall then reverberate thy wail, when thou hast found,

With a whiminal thou was suborn home, But in no fair haven on the gale, I, in a flood of ills thou gettest not, Shall set thyself and children in one line. Flout then both creon in my words, For none of mortals shall be stricken worse than thou. Must I endure this fellow's insolence? A moraine on thee, get thee hence, be gone, a vaunt,

and never cross my threshold more. I ne'er had come, hadst thou not bidden me. I knew not thou wouldst utter folly, else long hadst thou waited to be summoned here. Such am I, as it seems to thee a fool, but as a parent who begat thee, wise. What sayest thou parents? Who begat me?

Speak. This day shall be thy birthday and thy grave. Thou loves to speak in riddles and dark words. in reading riddles who so skilled as thou. Twit me with that wherein my greatness lies. And yet this very greatness proved thy bane. No matter if I saved the commonwealth. Tis time I left thee. Come, boy, take me home.

Aye, take him quickly, for his presence irks and lets me. Gone thou canst not blame me more. I go, but first will tell thee why I came. Thy frown I dread not, For thou canst not harm me. Hear them. This man whom thou Has sought to arrest with threats and warrants,

This long while, the wretch who murdered Lius, That man is here. He passes for an alien in the land, But soon shall prove a thiban, native-born. And yet his fortune brings him little joy For blinds of seeing clan and beggar's weeds For purple robes and leaning on his staff To a strange land he shall soon grope his way,

And of the children, inmates of his home, He shall be proved the brother and the sire of her Who bear him son and husband both, Co-partner, and assassin of his sire, Go in and ponder this, And if thou find that I have missed the mark, Henceforth declare that I have no wit nor skill in prophecy. Excient Tyresius and Oedipus

Who is he, by voice immortal named, From Pythia's rocky cell, Duer of foul deeds of bloodshed, horrors that no tongue can tell. A foot for flight he needs, pleader than storm swift steeds, for on his heels doth follow, armed with the lightnings of his sire Apollo, like sleuth-hounds too the fates pursue.

Yay, but now flashed forth the summons from Parnassus's snowy peak, near and far the undiscovered doer of this murder seek. Now like a sullen bull he roves, through the forest breaks and upland groves, and the vainly seeks to fly, the doom that ever nigh flits o'er his head, still by the avenging ibis sped the voice divine from earth's mid-shrine. So perplexed am I by the words of the master sear. Are they true? Are they false? I know not, and bridle my tongue for fear. with vague surmise, more present nor future is clear. Quarrel of ancient date, or in days still near, know I none, twixt the Ladacian house and our ruler Polybus son. Proof is there none.

How then can I challenge our king's good name? How, in a blood feud join, for an untract deed of shame. All wise are Zeus and Apollo, and nothing is hid from their ken. They are gods, and in more, wits a man may surpass his fellow men, but that a mortal seer knows more than I know. Where have this been proven? Or how without sign assured can I blame him who saved our state when the waned songstress came, tested and tried in the light of us all like gold assayed? How can I now assent when a crime is on Oedipus laid? Friends, countrymen, I learn King Oedipus, hath laid

against me a most grievous charge, and come to you protesting. If he deems that I have harmed or injured him in aught, by word or deed in this our present trouble, I care not to prolong the span of life, thus ill-reputed, for the calumny hits not a single blot, but blast my name, if by the general voice I am denounced false to the state, and false by you, my friends. This taunt, it well may be, was boarded out in petulance, not spoken advisedly. Did any dare pretend that it was I prompted the seer to utter a forged charge? Such things were said, with what intent I know not. Were not his wits and vision all astray, when upon me he fixed this monstrous charge?

I know not. To my sovereign's axe, I am blind. But lo, he comes to answer for himself. Enter Etypus. Sirrah, what makes thou here? Dost thou presume to approach my doors, thou brazen-faced rogue? My murderer and the filcher of my crown? Come, answer this. Didst thou detect in me some touch of cowardice or witlessness

that made thee undertake this enterprise? I seem forsooth too simple to perceive the serpent stealing on me in the dark, or else too weak to scotch it when I saw This thou art witless Seeking to possess without a following or friends the crown A prize that followers and wealth must win Attend me, thou hast spoken, tis my turn to make reply Then having heard me judge

Thou art glib of tongue, but I am slow to learn of thee I know too well thy venomous hate First I would argue out this very point Oh, argue not that thou art not a rogue. If thou dost count a virtue stubbornness, unschooled by reason, thou art much astray. If thou dost hold a kinsman may be wronged, and no pains follow, thou art much to seek. Therein thou judgest rightly, but this wrong that thou ledgest, tell me what it is. Didst thou, or didst thou not advise that I should call the priest?

Yes, and I stand to it. "'Tell me, how long is it since Laus?' "'Since Laus, I follow not thy drift.' "'Thy violent hands was spirited away.' "'In the dim past, many years are gone.' "'Did the same profit, then pursue his craft?' "'Yes, skilled is now and in no less repute.' "'Did he, at that time, ever glance at me?'

"'Not to my knowledge, not when I was by.' "'But was no search an inquisition made?' "'Surely full quest was made, but nothing learnt.' Why failed the seer to tell his story then? I know not, and not knowing, hold my tongue. This much thou knowest, and canst surely tell. What means thou? All I know I will declare. But for thy prompting, never had the seer ascribed to me the death O'Leus.

If so he, thou knowest best. But I would put thee to the question in my turn. Question, and prove me murderer if thou canst. Then let me ask thee, didst thou wed my son? sister. The fact so plain, I cannot well deny. And as thy consort queen, she shares the throne. I grant her freely all her heart desires.

And with you, Twain, I share the triple rule. Yea, and it is that, proves thee a false friend. Not so, if thou wouldst reason with myself, as I with myself. First, I bid thee think, would any mortal choose a troubled reign of terrors rather than secure repose, if the same power were given him? As for me, I have no natural craving for the name of king, preferring to do kingly deeds, and so thinks every sober-minded man. Now all my needs are satisfied through thee, and I have naught to fear, but were I king, my axe would off run counter to my will. How could a title then have charms for me, above the sweets of boundless influence?

I am not so infatuate as to grasp the shadow when I hold the substance fast. Now all men cry me Godspeed, wish me well, and every suitor seeks to gain my ear if he would hope to win a grace from thee. Why should I leave the better, choose the worse? That were sheer madness, and I am not mad. No such ambition ever tempted me, nor would I have share in such intrigue. and if thou doubt me first to Delphi go there ascertain if my report was true of the God's answer next investigate if with the seer i plotted or conspired and if it proved so sentence me to death not by thy voice alone but mine and thine but o condemn me not without appeal on bare suspicion tis not right to adjudge bad men at random good or good men bad

i would as leave a man should cast away the thing he counts most precious his own life as spurn a true friend thou wilt learn in time the truth for time alone reveals the just a villain is detected in a day To one who walketh warily, his words commend themselves. Swift counsels are not sure. When with swift strides the stealthy plotter stalks, I must be quick too with my counterplot. To wait his onset passively, For him, his sure success. For me, assured defeat.

What thence thy will, to banish me the land? I would not have thee banished, no, but dead, that men may mark the wages envy reaps. I see thou will not yield nor credit me. None but a fool would credit such as thou. Thou art not wise. Wise for myself, at least. Why not for me too?

Why, for such a knave? Suppose thou lackest sense. Yet kings must rule. Not if they rule ill. Oh, my Thebans. Hear him. Thy thibons? Am not I a Theban, too?

Cease princess. lo there comes and none to soon jocasta from the palace whoso fed is peacemaker to reconcile your feud enter jacasta misguided princes why have ye appraised this wordy wrangle are you not ashamed while the whole land lies stricken thus to voice her private injuries go in my lord go home my brother and forbear to make a public scandal of a petty grief my royal sister edipus thys lord hath bid me choose o dread alternative an outlaws exile or a felon's death yes lady i have caught him practising against my royal person his vile arts may i ne'er speed but die accursed if i in any way am guilty of this charge believe him i adjure thee edipus first for his solemn oath's sake then for mine and for thine elder's sake who wait on thee harkin king reflect we pray thee but not stubborn but relent say to what should i consent respect a man whose probity and truth are known to all and now confirmed by oath just know what grace thou cravest yea i know declare it then and make thy meaning plain brand not a friend whom babbling tongues assail let not suspicion against his oath prevail bethink you that in seeking this ye seek in very suit my death or banishment no by the leader of the host divine witness thou son such thought was never mine unbless unfriended may i perish if ever i such wish did cherish but oh my heart is desolate musing on our stricken state doubly foam should discord bro twain to crown our woe

well let him go no matter what it cost me or certain death or shameful banishment for your sake i relent not his and him where'er he be my heart shall still abhor thou art is sullen in thy yielding mood as in thine anger thou wast fructulent such tempers justly plague themselves the most leave me in peace and get thee gone i go by thee misjudged but justly justified by these. Exient Creon. Lady, leaden doors thy consorts. Wherefore longer here delay? Tell me first how rose the fray. Rumors bred unjust suspicious, and injustice wrankles sore.

Were both at fault? Both. What was the tale? Ask me no more. The land is sore distressed. T'were better sleeping ills to leave at rest. Strange counsel, friend. I know thou means me well, and yet woulds mitigate and blunt my zeal.

King, I say it once again. Witness were I proved insane, if I lightly put away me, my country's prop and stay. Pilot, who endanger sought, to a quiet haven brought our distracted state. And now who can guide us right, but thou! Let me too, I adjur thee, no, O king, What cause has stirred this unrelenting wrath? I will, for thou art more to me than these. Lady, the cause is Creon and his plots.

But what provoked the quarrel? Make this clear. He points me out as Leus' murderer. Of his own knowledge? Or a pun report? He is too cunning to commit himself, and makes a mouthpiece of a knavish seer. Then thou mayst ease thy conscience on that score.

Listen, and I'll convince thee that no-one. man has caught a lot in the prophetic art. Here is the proof in brief. An oracle once came to Lius, I will not say it was from the Delphic god himself, but from his ministers, declaring he was doomed to perish by the hand of his own son, a child that should be born to him by me. Now Lius, so at least report affirmed, was murdered on a day by highwaymen, no natives at a spot where three roads meet. As for the child, it was but three days old, when Lyas, its ankles pierced and pinned together, gave it to be cast away by others on the trackless mountainside. So then Apollo brought it not to pass, the child should be his father's murderer,

or the dread terror find accomplishment, and Lyas be slain by his own son. Such was the prophet's horoscope. Oh, King, regard it not, what terror the god deems fit to search, himself unaided will reveal. What memories? What wild tumult of the soul came o'er me, lady, as I heard thee speak? What means thou? What has shocked and startled thee? Me thought I heard thee say that Laus was murdered at the meeting of three roads. So ran the story that is current still. Where did this happen? Does thou know the place?

Fosses the land is called. The spot is where branch roads from Delphi and from Dulles meet. And how long is it since these things befell? T'was but a brief while where thou wast proclaimed, our country's ruler, that the news was brought. O Zeus! What hast thou wilt to do with me? What is it, Oedipus, that moves thee so? Ask me not yet. Tell me the build and height of Laos. Was he still in manhood's prime?

Tall was he, and his hair was slightly strewn with silver, and not unlikely in form. "'Oh, woe is me. Methinks unwittingly I laid but now a dread curse upon myself.' "'What say'st thou? When I look upon thee, my king, I tremble. "'Tis a dread presentiment, but in the end the seer will prove not blind. "'One further question to resolve my doubt.' "'I quail, but ask, and I will answer all. "'Had he but few attendants, or a train of armed retainers with him, like a prince, They were but five in all, and one of them a herald, Lyos and a mulecar rode.

Alas, tis clear as noonday now. But say, lady, who carried this report to Thebes? A serf, the sole survivor who returned. Happily he is at hand, or in the house? No, for as soon as he returned and found thee reigning in the stead of Lyus Lane, he clasped my hand and supplicated me, to send him to the Alps and pastures, where he might be farthest from the side of thieves, and so I sent him. It was an honest slave, and well deserved, some better recompense.

Fetch him at once. I fain would see the man. He shall be brought, but wherefore summon him? Lady, I fear my tongue has overrun discretion. Therefore I would question him. Well, he shall come, but may not I too claim to share the burden of thy heart, my king? And thou shalt not be frustrate of thy wish? now my imaginings have gone so far who has a higher claim than thou to hear my tale of dire adventures listen then

my sire was polybus of corinth and my mother merope adorian and i was held the foremost citizen till a strange thing befell me strange indeed yet scarce deserving all the heat it stirred a roisterer at some banquet flown with wine shouted thou art not true son of thy sire it irked me but i stomached for the nonce the insult on the morrow i sought out my mother and my sire and questioned them they were indignant at the random slur cast on my parentage and did their best to comfort me but still the venomed barb rankled for still the scandal spread and grew So privily, without their leave, I went to Delphi, and Apollo sent me back, bulk to the knowledge that I came to seek. But other grievous things he prophesied, woes, lamentations, mourning, portents, dire, to wit I should defile my mother's bed, and raise up seed too loathsome to behold, and slay the father from whose loins I sprang. Then, lady, thou shalt hear the very truth, as i drew near the triple branching roads a herald met me and a man who sat in a car drawn by colts as in thy tail the man in front and the old man himself threatened to thrust me rudely from the path

then jostled by the charioteer in wrath i struck him an old man seeing this watched till i passed and from his car brought down full on my head the double-pointed gold yet was i quits with him and more one stroke of my good staff sufficed to fling him clean out of the chariot seat and laid him prone and so i slew them every one but if betwixt this stranger there was aught in common with leus who won't miserable than I. What mortal could you find, more God abhorred, Rich, whom no sojourner, no citizen may harbour or address, whom all are bound to harry from their homes. And this same curse was laid on me, and laid by none but me. Yea, with these hands all gaudy I pollute the bed of him I slew. Say, am I vile? Have I not utterly unclean?

A wretch doomed to be banished, And in banishment, Forgo the sight of all my dearest ones, And never tread again my native earth, Or else to wed my mother, And slay my sire, Pallibius, Who begat me, and upreared,

If one should say, This is the handiwork of some inhuman power, Who could blame his judgment? But ye pure and awful gods, Forbid, forbid, that I should see that day, may i be blotted out from living men ere such a plague-spot set on me its brand we too o king are troubled but till thou hast questioned the survivor still hope on my hope is faint but still enough survives to bid me bide the coming of this herd suppose in here what wouldst thou learn of him i'll tell thee lady if his tale agrees with thine I shall have escaped calamity.

And what of special import did I say? In thy report of what the herdsman said, Laus was slain by robbers. Now, if he still speaks of robbers, not a robber, I slew him not, one with many cannot square. But if he says one lonely wayfarer, the last link wanting to my guilt is forged. Well, rest assured,

he's tale ran thus at first, nor can he now retract what then he said. Not I alone but all our townsfolk heard it. Even should he vary somewhat in his story, he cannot make the death of lias in any wise jump with the oracle. For Loxius said expressly he was doomed to die by my child's hand. But he, poor babe, he shed no blood, but perished first himself, so much for divination. Henceforth I will look for signs neither to right nor left.

Thou reasonest well. Still I would have thee send and fetch the bondsman hither. See to it. That will I straightway. Come, let us within. I would do nothing that my lord mislikes. Axiant Oedipus and Jakasta. End of part one. Visit BetMDMGM Casino and check out the newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. BetMDM and Game Sense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager. Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact connects Ontario at 1-866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor, free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario.

Part 2 of Oedipus Oedipus the King by Sophocles. Translation by F-Store. My lot be still to lead the life of innocence and fly irreverence in word or deed. To follow still those laws ordained on high, whose birthplace is the bright ethereal sky. No mortal birth they own, Olympus their progenitor alone. Nair shall they slumber in oblivion cold. The God in them is strong and grows not old. of insolence is bred the tyrant.

Insolence full blown with empty riches surfeited, scales the precipitous height, and grasps the throne, and topples door and lies in ruin prone. No foothold on that dizzy steep. But oh, may heaven that true patriot keep, who burns with emulous zeal to serve the state, God is my help and hope. On him, I wait. But the proud sinner, or in word or deed that will not justice heed, nor reverence the shrine of images divine, perdition sees his vain imagines. If urged by greed profane, he grasps at ill-got gain, and lays impious hand on holiest things. Who, when such deeds are done, can hope heaven's bones to shun?

If sin like this to honor can aspire, why dance I still, made the sacred choir. No more I'll seek Earth's central or Abbey's hollowed cell, nor to Olympia bring my votive offering. If before all God's truth be not bade plain, O Zeus, reveal thy might, King, if thou art named a right, omnipotent, all-seeing as of old, for lice is forgot.

His weird, many heed it not. Not. Apollo is forsook, and faith grows cold. Enter Jakasta. My lords, you look amazed to see your queen with breaths and gifts of incense in her hands. I had a mind to visit the high shrines, for Oedipus is overwrought, alarmed with terrors manifold. He will not use his past experience like a man of sense to judge the present needs, but lends an ear to any croaker if he augurs ill. Since then my counsels not avail, I turn to thee our present help in time of trouble.

Apollo, Lord Lycean, and to thee my prayers and supplications here I bring. Lighten us, Lord, and cleanse us from this curse. For now we all are cow-like mariners who see their helmsman dumbstruck in the storm. Enter Corinthian Messenger. My masters, tell me where the palace is of Oedipus. Or better, where's the king? Here's the palace. He bides within.

This is his queen, the mother of his children. All happiness attend her in the house. Blessed is her husband and her marriage bed. My greetings to thee, stranger. Thy fair words deserve a like response. But tell me, why thou comest, what thy need or what thy news. Good for thy consort, and the royal house.

What may it be? Whose messenger art thou? The Ismian commons have resolved to make thy husband king. So twas reported there. What? Is not H. Polybus still king? No, verily. He's dead and in his grave. What? Is he dead? The sire of Oedipus? If I speak falsely, may I die myself? Quick maiden, bear these titans to my lord. Ye gods and 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.

Etypice. My wife, my queen, Jocaster, why hast thou summoned me from my palace? Hear this man, and as thou hearest judge what has become of all those awe-inspiring oracles. Who is this man, and what is news for me? He comes from Corinth, and his message this, thy father, Polybus, have passed away. What? Let me have it stranger from thy mouth. If I must first make plain beyond a doubt my message, know that Polybus is dead? By treachery or by sickness visited? One touch will send an old man to his rest.

So of some malady he died for a man. Yes, having measured the full span of years. Out on it, lady, why should one regard the pithian hearth or birds that scream in 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 Polybius. Say, did not I foretell this long ago?

Thou didst, but I was misled by my fear. Then let I no more way upon thy soul. Must I not fear my mother's marriage bed? Why should a mortal man, the sport of chance, with no assured for knowledge 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 brain-sick fantasies lives most at ease. I should have shared in full like confidence. We're not my mother living. Since she lives, though half convinced I still must live in dread. And yet thy sire's death lights out dark. much much but my fear is touching her who lives who may this woman be whom thus you fear merope a stranger wife of polybius and what of her can cause you any fear a heaven's end oracle of dreading port a mystery or may a stranger hear it ay tis no secret loxius 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 was this the fear that exiled thee from home yea and the dread of slaying my own sire why since i came to get me from home

Since I came to give thee pleasure, King, have I not rid thee of this second fear? Well, thou shalt have du Guerun for thy pains. Well, I confess what chiefly made me come was hope to profit by thy coming home. Nay, I will ne'er go near my parents more. My son, tis plain. Thou knowest not what thou doest. How so, old man, for heaven's sake, tell me all. If this is why thou dreadest to return.

yea, lest the God's word be fulfilled in me. Lest through thy parents thou shouldst be accursed? This and none other is my constant dread. Dost thou not know thy fears are baseless all? How baseless, if I am their very son? Since polybus was not to thee in blood. What say'st thou? Was not Polybius, my sire? As much thy sire as I am. And no more.

My sire no more to me than one who is naught? Since I beget thee not, no more did he. What reason had he then to call me son? Know that he took thee from my hands a gift. Yet if no child of his, he loved me well. A childless man till then, he warmed to thee. A foundling or a purchased slave this child. I found thee in Scythyrion's wooded glens.

What led thee to explore these Upland glades? My business was to tend the mountain flocks. Vagrant shepherd, journeying for hire. True, but thy saviour in that hour, my son. My saviour? From what harm? What ailed me then? Those ankle joints are evidence anew. Ah, why remind me of that ancient saw? I loosed the pin that riveted thy feet.

Yes, from my cradle that dread brand I bore. Whence thou derivest the name that still is thine? Who did it? I assure thee tell. Tell me who. Say, was it father? Mother? I know not. The man from whom I had thee may know more. What? Did another find me, not thyself? Not I. Another shepherd gave thee me. Who was he? Wouldst thou know again the man? He passed indeed for one of Leus's house. The king who ruled the country long ago. The same. He was a herdsman of the king. He was a herdsman of the king and is he living still for me to see him his fellow countrymen should best know that doth any bystander among you know the herd he speaks of or by seeing him afield or in the city answer straight the hour hath come to clear this business up he thinks he means none other than a hind whom thou anon wert fain to see but that our queen jocasta best of all could tell madam dost know the man we sent to fetch is it the same of whom the stranger speaks. Who is the man? What matter? Let it be. To a waste of thought to wait such idle words.

No, with such guiding clues I cannot fail to bring to light the secret of my birth. Oh, as thou cares for thy life, give all this quest. Enough the anguish I endure. Be of good cheer, though I be proved the son of a bondswoman. Aye, through three descent triply a slave, thy honour is unsmurched. Yet humor me, I pray thee, do not this. I cannot. I must probe the matter home. Tis for thy sake I advise thee for the best. I grow impatient of this best advice. Ah, maize thou never discover who thou art.

Go, fetch me here to herd, and leave yon woman to glory in her pride of ancestry. How woe is thee, poor wretch! With that last word, I leave thee, henceforth, silent, evermore. Why, Edipus, why stunn with passionate grief, have the queen thus departed? Much I fear from this dead calm will burst a storm of woes. Let the storm burst. My fixed resolve still holds to learn my lineage, be it near so low. It may be she, with all a woman's pride, thinks scorn of my base parentage.

But I, who rank myself as fortune's favourite child, the giver of good good, gifts shall not be shamed. She is my mother, and the changing moons my brethren, and with them I wax and wane. Thus sprung, why should I fear to trace my birth? Nothing can make me other than I am. If my soul prophetic are not, if my wisdom ought to veil, thee Scythyrn, I shall hail, as the nurse and foster-mother of our Oedipus shall greet ere to-morrow's full moon rises, and exalt thee as is meet. Dance and song shall him thy praises, lover of our royal race. Phoebus may my words find grace. Child who bear thee, nymph or goddess? Sure, thou sure was more than man. Happily the hell-romer pan of didloxia spigethy, for he haunts the upland world, of Cylene's lord or Bacchus dweller on the hilltops cold.

Did some Halisonian Orient give him the A newborn joy Nymphs with which he loved toy Elders If I, who never yet before Have met the man, may make a guess

Methinks I see the herdsman Whom whom we long have sought His time-worn aspect Matches with the years of yonder-aged Messenger. Besides, I seem to recognise the men who bring him as servants of my own. But you, perchance, having in past days known or seen the herd, may better, by sure knowledge, my surmise.

I recognise him. No, Lyus' house. A simple hind, but true as any man. Enter herdsman. Corinthians, stranger, I address thee first. Is this the man now meanest? This is he. And now, old man, look up, and answer all I ask thee.

Was thou once of Laus's house? I was, a thrall not purchased, but home-bred. What was thy business? How was thou employed? The best part of my life I tended sheep. What were the pastures thou didst most frequent? Kithyron, and the neighbouring Alps. Then there thou must have known yon man, at least by fame. Yon man? In what way? What man dost thou mean?

The man here, having met him in past times. Offhand, I cannot call him well. to mind. No wonder, master. But I will revive his blunted memories. Sure he can recall what time together, both we drove our flocks, he two, I won, on the Scytharian range for three long summers. I his mate from spring till rose Arcturus. Then in wintertime I led mine home. He his, Thelais, folds. Did these things happen as I say? Or no. Tis long ago, but all thou say'st is true.

Well, thou must then remember giving me a child to rear as my own foster-son. Why dost thou ask this question? What of that? Friend, he that stands before thee was that child. A plague upon thee, hold thy wanton tongue. Softly, old man, rebuke him not. Thy words are more deserving chastisement than his. Oh, best of masters, what is my offence? not answering what he asks about the child he speaks at random babbles like a fool if thou lack's grace to speak i'll loose thy tongue for mercy's sake abuse not an old man arrest the villain seize and pinion him alack alack what have i done what wouldst thou further learn didst thou give this man the child of whom he asks i did and would that i had died that day and die thou shalt unless thou tell the truth

But if I'd tell it, I am doubly lost. The knave, methinks, will still prevaricate. Nay, I confessed, I gave it long ago. Whence came it? Was it thine, or given to thee? I had it from another, t'was not mine. From whom of these are townsmen? And what house? Forbear, for God's sake, master, ask no more. If I must question thee again, thou'd lost.

Well, then, it was a child of Lyre's house. "'Slave-born, or one of Leus' own race?' "'Ah, me, I stand upon the perilous edge of speech.' "'And I of hearing. "'But I still must hear?' "'No, then the child was by repute his own, "'but she within thy consort best could tell.' "'What? She? She gave it thee?'

"'It is so, my king.' "'With what intent?' "'To make a way with it.' "'What? She, its mother?' "'fearing a dread, weird. What weird? It was told that he should slay his sire. What didst thou give it then to this old man?

Through pity, master, for the babe. I thought he'd take it to the country whence he came, but he preserved it for the worst of woes. For if thou art in sooth what this man saith, God pity thee, thou wast a misery born. Ah me! Ah me! All brought to pass, all true, O light may I behold thee never more

I stand a wretch in birth In wedlock cursed A parricide, incestuously Triply cursed Exit Oedipus Races of mortal man whose life is but a span I count ye that the shadow of the shade For he who loasteth know of bliss hath but the show

a moment, and the visions pale and fade. Thy fall, O O Oedipus, thy piteous fall, warns me, none born of woman blessed to call. For he of Marksman best, O Zeus, outshot the rest, and won the prize supreme of wealth and power. By him, the vulture maid was quelled, her witchery laid. He rose our savior and the land's strong tower. We hail to be king, and from that day adored of mighty Thebes, the universal Lord. O heavy hand of fate, who now more desolate, whose tail more sad than thine, whose lot more dire. O O O Oedipus, discrowned head, thy cradle was thy marriage bed.

One harborage suffice for son and sire. How could the soil by father eared so long endured to bear in silence such a wrong? All seen time have caught guilt, and to justice brought the sun and sire commingled in one bed. O child of lias, ill-starred race, would I had never beheld by face? I raise for thee a dirge as o'er the dead. dead yet suit to say through thee i drew new breath and now through thee i feel a second death enter second messenger most grave and reverent senators of thebes what deeds ye soon must hear what sights behold how will ye mourn if true-born patriots ye reverend still the race of labdicus nor issterol nor alphesus flood iween could wash away the blood stains from this house the ills at shrouds or or soon will bring to light, ills wrought of malice not unwittingly.

The worst are to bear our self-inflicted wounds. Grievous enough, for all our tears and groans are past calamities. What canst thou add? My tale is quickly told and quickly heard. Our sovereign lady Queen Jocaster's dead. Alas, poor queen! How came she by her death? By her own hand, and all the horror of it.

Not having seen yet cannot comprehend, Nathless, as far as my poor memory serves, I will relate the unhappy lady's woe. When in her frenzy she had passed inside the vestibule, she hurried straight to win the bridal chamber, clutching at her hair with both her hands, and once within the room she shut the doors behind her with a crash, Leus, she cried, and called her husband dead. Long, long ago her thought was of that child by him begot, the son by whom the sire was murdered, and the mother left to breed, with her own seed, a monstrous priest. progeny. Then she bewailed the marriage-bed, whereon, poor wretch, she had conceived,

a double brood, husband by husband, children by her child. What happened, after that, I cannot tell. Nor how the end befell, for with a shriek burst on us, Oedipus, all eyes were fixed on Oedipus, as up and down he strode. Nor could we mark her agony to the end. For stalking to and fro a sword, he cried. Where is the wife, no wife, the teeming womb, that bore double harvest, me and mine, and in his frenzy some supernal power nor mortal, surely none of us who watched him, guided his footsteps, with a terrible shriek, as though one beckoned him, he crashed against the folding doors, and from their staples forced the wrenched bolts, and hurled himself within. Then we beheld the woman hanging there, a running noose entwined

about her neck, but when he saw her, with a maddened roar, he loosed the cord, and when her wretched corpse lay stretched on earth. What followed, oh, twas dread. He tore the golden brooches that upheld her queenie robes, upraised them high and smote, full on his eyeballs, uttering words like this. No more shall ye behold the sights of woe, deeds I have suffered from thyself have wrought, hence forward quenched in darkness shall ye see, those he should ne'er have seen, now blind to those whom, when I saw, I vainly yearn to know. Such was the burden of his moor, where too, not once but oft he struck with his hand uplift his eyes, and at each stroke the insanguined orbs bedewed his beard, not oozing drop by drop, but one black gory downpour, thick as hail.

Such evils issuing from the double source have whelmed them both confounding man and wife. Till now the storied fortune of this house was fortunate indeed, but from this day woe, lamentation, ruin, death, disgrace, all ills that can be named, all, all are theirs. But hath he still no respite from his pain? He cries, unbar the doors and let all Thebes behold the slayer of his sire. His mother's, that shameful word my lips may not repeat. He vows to fly self-banished from the land, nor stay to bring upon his house the curse himself had uttered. But he has no strength, nor one to guide him.

his tortures more than man can suffer, as yourselves will see. Below, the palace portals are unbarred, and soon ye shall behold a sight so sad that he who must abhorred would pity it. Enter Oedipus, blinded. Woeful sight! More woeful none these sad eyes have looked upon. Whence this madness? None can tell who did cast on me his spell,

prowling all my life around, leaping with the demon bound hapless wretch how can i book on the misery to look though to gaze on me i yearn much to question much to learn horror struck the way i turn i turn ah me ah woe is me ah whither am i born how like a ghost forlorn my voice flits from me on the demon goads the end Ah, where? An end too dread to tell To dark to see Dark, dark

Dark, dark The horror of darkness Like a shroud wraps me And bears me on through mist and cloud Ah me Ah me! What spasms athwart me Shoot

What pangs of agonising memory No marvel If in such a plight thou feel'st the double weight of past and present and rose. Ah, friend, still loyal, constant, still and kind, thou carest for the blind, I know thee near, and though bereft of eyes, thy voice I recognize.

O doer of dread deeds, how couldst thou mar thy vision thus? What demon goaded thee? Apollo, friend, Apollo, he it was that brought these ills to pass but the right hand that dealt the blow was mine none other how how could i longer see when sight brought no delight alas to dad's saste say friends can any look or voice or touch of love henceforth my heart rejoice haste friends no fond delay take the twice curse it away far from all ken the man abhorred of gods a cursed of men oh thy despair well suits thy desperate case but i had never looked upon my face my curse on him who ere unrived the waif's fell fetters and my life revived he meant me well yet had he left me there he had saved my friends and me a world of care i too had wished itself

then had i never come to shed my father's blood nor climbed my mother's bed the monstrous offspring of a womb defiled co-mate of him who gendered me and child was ever man before afflicted thus like edipus i cannot say that thou hast counselled well for thou wert better dead than living blind what's done was well done Thou canst never shake my firm belief. A truth to argument. For had I sight, I know not with what eyes I could have met my father in the shades. Or my poor mother! Sins against the twain I sinned. A sin no gallows could atone.

Aye. But ye say the sight of children joys a parent's eyes. What? Born as mine were born? No. Such sight could not. never bring me joy, nor this fair city, with its battlements, its temples, and the statues of its gods, sights from which I, now wretchedest of all, once ranked the foremost Theban in all Thebes,

By my own sentence am cut off, condemned by my own proclamation, against the wretch, the miscreant, By heaven itself declared unclean, And of the race of Laus, thus branded as a fred as a fiscountable, and of the race of Laus, thus branded as a felon by myself. How had I dared to look you in the face? They, had I known a way to choke the springs of hearing, I had never shrunk to make a dungeon of this miserable frame, cut off from sight and hearing,

for it is bliss to bide in regions, sorrow cannot reach. Why didst thou harbour me, sit there, and why didst thou not take and slay me? then i never had shown to men the secret of my birth o polybius o corinth o my home home of my ancestors so was thou called how fair a nursling then i seemed how foul the canker that lay festering in the bud now is the blight revealed of root and fruit ye triple high roads and thou hidden glen copies and pass where meet the three branched ways ye drank my blood the life blood these hands spilt my fathers do ye call to mind perchance those deeds of mine ye witnessed and the work i wrought thereafter when i came to thebes oh fatal wedlock thou didst give me birth and having borne me sowed against my seed mingling the blood of fathers brothers children brides wives and mothers an incestuous brood all horrors that are wrought beneath the sun horrors so foul to name them were unmeat oh i adjure you hide me anywhere far from this land or slay me so

straight, or cast me down to the depths of oceans out of sight. Come hither, deign to touch an abject wretch. Draw near, and fear not. I myself must bear the load of guilt that none but I can share. Enter Creon. Lo, here is Creon, the one man to grant thy prayer by action or advice, for he has left the state's sole guardian in thy stead. Ah, me, what words to accost him can I find? What cause has he to trust me? In the past I have been proved his rancorous enemy.

Not in derision, Oedipus I come, nor to upbraid thee with thy past misdeeds. Two bystanders. But shame upon you, if ye feel no sense of human decencies, at least revere the sun whose light beholds and nurtures all. leave not thus nakedly for all to gaze at a horror neither earth nor rain from heaven nor light will suffer lead him straight within for it is seemly that a kinsman's woes be heard by kin and seen by kin alone oh listen since thy presence comes to me a shock of glad surprise so noble thou and i so vile oh grant me one small boon i ask it not on my behalf but thine. And what the favour thou wouldst crave of me? Forth from thy borders thrust me with all speed. Set me within some vasty desert, where no mortal voice shall greet me any more.

This had I done already, but I deemed it first behoved me to consult the God. His will was set forth fully, to destroy the pariside, the scoundrel, and I am he. Yea, so he spake, but in our present plight, twere better, her to consult the god anew. Dare ye inquire concerning such a wretch? Yea, for thyself would's credit now his word. Aye, and on thee in all humility I lay this charge. Let her, who lies within, receive such burial as thou shalt ordain.

Such right, tis thine as brother to perform. But for myself, O never let my Thebes, the city of my sires, be doomed to bear the burden of my presence. while I lived. No, let me be a dweller on the hills. On yonder mount, Sith Heron, famed as mine, my tomb predestined for me by my sire and mother while they lived, that I might die, slain as they sought to slay me when alive. This much I know full surely, nor disease shall end my days, nor any common chance, for I had ne'er been snatched from death, unless i was predestined to some awful doom so be it i reck not how fate deals with me but my unhappy children for my sons be not concerned o creon they are men and for themselves where they be can fend

but for my daughters twain poor innocent maids whoever sat beside me at the board sharing my viands drinking of my cup for then i pray thee care and if thou wilt oh might i feel their touch and make my moan hear me o prince my noble-hearted prince could i but blindly touch them with my hands i'd think they were still mine as when i saw antigone and dismayne are led in what say i can it be my pretty ones whose sobs i hear has creon pitted me and sent me my two darlings can this be tis true "'Twas I procured thee this delight, "'knowing the joy they were to thee of old. "'God speed thee, and as meed for bringing them, "'may Providence deal with thee "'kindlier than it has dealt with me.

"'O children mine, where are ye? "'Let me clasp you with these hands, "'a brother's hands, a father's hands, "'the maid lacklustre sockets of his once bright eyes. "'Hands of a man who blindly, recklessly, became your sire by her from whom he sprang. Though I cannot behold you, I must weep in thinking of the evil days to come,

the slights and wrongs that men will put upon you. Where'er ye go to feast or festival, no merry-making will it prove for you, but oft abashed in tears ye will return. And when ye come to manageable years, where's the bold wooers who will jeopardy, eyes to take unto himself such disrepute as to my children's children still must cling for what of infamy is lacking here their father slew his father sowed the seed where he himself was gendered and begat these maidens at the source whereof he sprung such are the gibes that men will cast at you who then will wed you none i ween but ye must pine poor maids in single

barrenness. O Prince, Menocetius son, to thee I turn. With thee it rests to father them, for we their natural parents, both of us are lost. Oh, leave them not to wander, poor, unwed, thy kin, nor let them share my low estate, O pity them, so young, and but for thee all destitute. Thy hand upon it, prince, to you, my children, I have. much to say were ye but ripe to hear let this suffice pray ye may find some home and live content and may your lot prove happier than your sires thou hast had enough of weeping hast within i must obey though tis grievous weep not everything must have its day well i go but on condition what thy terms for going say send me from the land an exile Ask this of the gods, not me. But I am the gods abhorrence. Then they soon will grant thy plea.

Lead me hence, then. I am willing. Come, but let thy children go. Rob me not of these my children. Crave not mastery and all. For the mastery that raised thee was thy bane and wrought thy fall. Looky, countrymen and the beings. This is Oedipus the Great. He who knew the sphinxes riddle, and was

mightiest in our state. Who of all our townsmen gazed not on his fame with envious eyes? Now in what a sea of trouble sunk and overwhelmed he lies. Therefore, wait to see life's ending, ere thou count one mortal blessed. Wait, till free from pain and sorrow he has gained his final rest. End of Part 2. End of Etypice. By Sophocle. Please. If you want a $3,000 a month payday for life, what would you feel free to do? Maybe take a long weekend, every weekend, or try a bunch of new hobbies? Would you feel free to upgrade and listen ad-free?

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