by John Dryden
Joc. Prepare then, wretched prince, prepare to hear
A story, that shall turn thee into stone.
Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in nature,
A flaw made through the centre, by some God,
Through which the groans of ghosts may strike thy ears,
They would not wound thee, as this story will.
Hark, hark! a hollow voice calls out aloud,
Jocasta! Yes, I’ll to the royal bed,
Where first the mysteries of our loves were acted,
And double-dye it with imperial crimson;
Tear off this curling hair,
Be gorged with fire, stab every vital part,
And, when at last I’m slain, to crown the horror,
My poor tormented ghost shall cleave the ground,
To try if hell can yet more deeply wound.[Exit.
Œdip. She’s gone; and, as she went, methought her eyes
Grew larger, while a thousand frantic spirits,
Seething like rising bubbles on the brim,
Peeped from the watry brink, and glowed upon me.
I’ll seek no more; but hush my genius up,
That throws me on my fate. — Impossible!
O wretched man, whose too too busy thoughts
Hide swifter than the gallopping heaven’s round,
With an eternal hurry of the soul.
Nay, there’s a time when even the rolling year
Seems to stand still, dead calms are in the ocean,
When not a breath disturbs the drowzy waves:
But man, the very monster of the world,
Is ne’er at rest; the soul for ever wakes.
Come then, since destiny thus drives us on,
Let us know the bottom. — Hæmon, you I sent;
Where is that Phorbas?
Hæm. Here, my royal lord.
Œdip. Speak first, Ægeon, say, is this the man?
Æge. My lord, it is; Though time has ploughed that face
With many furrows since I saw it first,
Yet I’m too well acquainted with the ground,
Quite to forget it.
Œdip. Peace; stand back a while. —
Come hither, friend; I hear thy name is Phorbas.
Why dost thou turn thy face? I charge thee answer
To what I shall enquire: Wert thou not once
The servant to king Laius here in Thebes?
Phor. I was, great sir, his true and faithful servant;
Born and bred up in court, no foreign slave.
Œdip. What office hadst thou? what was thy employment?
Phor. He made me lord of all his rural pleasures;
For much he loved them: oft I entertained him
With sporting swains, o’er whom I had command.
Œdip. Where was thy residence? to what part of the country
Didst thou most frequently resort?
Phor. To mount Cithæron, and the pleasant vallies
Which all about lie shadowing its large feet.
Œdip. Come forth, Ægeon. — Ha! why start’st thou, Phorbas?
Forward, I say, and face to face confront him:
Look wistly on him, — through him, if thou canst!
And tell me on thy life, say, dost thou know him?
Didst thou e’er see him? e’er converse with him
Near mount Cithæron?
Phor. Who, my lord, this man?
Œdip. This man, this old, this venerable man:
Speak, did’st thou ever meet him there?
Phor. Where, sacred sir?
Œdip. Near mount Cithæron; answer to the purpose,
’Tis a king speaks; and royal minutes are
Of much more worth than thousand vulgar years:
Did’st thou e’er see this man near mount Cithæron?
Phor. Most sure, my lord, I have seen lines like those
His visage bears; but know not where, nor when.
Æge. Is’t possible you should forget your ancient friend?
There are, perhaps,
Particulars, which may excite your dead remembrance.
Have you forgot I took an infant from you,
Doomed to be murdered in that gloomy vale?
The swaddling-bands were purple, wrought with gold.
Have you forgot, too, how you wept, and begged
That I should breed him up, and ask no more?
Phor. Whate’er I begged, thou, like a dotard, speak’st
More than is requisite; and what of this?
Why is it mentioned now? And why, O why
Dost thou betray the secrets of thy friend?
Æge. Be not too rash. That infant grew at last
A king; and here the happy monarch stands.
Phor. Ha! whither would’st thou? O what hast thou uttered!
For what thou hast said, death strike thee dumb for ever!
Œdip. Forbear to curse the innocent; and be
Accurst thyself, thou shifting traitor, villain,
Damned hypocrite, equivocating slave!
Phor. O heavens! wherein, my lord, have I offended?
Œdip. Why speak you not according to my charge?
Bring forth the rack: since mildness cannot win you,
Torments shall force.
Phor. Hold, hold, O dreadful sir!
You will not rack an innocent old man?
Œdip. Speak then.
Phor. Alas! What would you have me say?
Œdip. Did this old man take from your arms an infant?
Phor. He did: And, Oh! I wish to all the gods,
Phorbas had perished in that very moment.
Œdip. Moment! Thou shalt be hours, days, years, a dying. —
Here, bind his hands; he dallies with my fury:
But I shall find a way —
Phor. My lord, I said
I gave the infant to him.
Œdip. Was he thy own, or given thee by another?
Phor. He was not mine, but given me by another.
Œdip. Whence? and from whom? what city? of what house?
Phor. O, royal sir, I bow me to the ground;
Would I could sink beneath it! by the gods,
I do conjure you to inquire no more.
Œdip. Furies and hell! Hæmon, bring forth the rack,
Fetch hither cords, and knives, and sulphurous flames:
He shall be bound and gashed, his skin flead off,
And burnt alive.
Phor. O spare my age.
Œdip. Rise then, and speak.
Phor. Dread sir, I will.
Œdip. Who gave that infant to thee?
Phor. One of king Laius’ family.
Œdip. O, you immortal gods! — But say, who was’t?
Which of the family of Laius gave it?
A servant, or one of the royal blood?
Phor. O wretched state! I die, unless I speak;
And if I speak, most certain death attends me!
Œdip. Thou shalt not die. Speak, then, who was it? speak,
While I have sense to understand the horror;
For I grow cold.
Phor. The queen Jocasta told me,
It was her son by Laius.
Œdip. O you gods! — But did she give it thee?
Phor. My lord, she did.
Œdip. Wherefore? for what? — O break not yet, my heart;
Though my eyes burst, no matter: — wilt thou tell me,
Or must I ask for ever? for what end,
Why gave she thee her child?
Phor. To murder it.
Œdip. O more than savage! murder her own bowels,
Without a cause!
Phor. There was a dreadful one,
Which had foretold, that most unhappy son
Should kill his father, and enjoy his mother.
Œdip. But one thing more.
Jocasta told me, thou wert by the chariot
When the old king was slain: Speak, I conjure thee,
&
nbsp; For I shall never ask thee aught again, —
What was the number of the assassinates?
Phor. The dreadful deed was acted but by one;
And sure that one had much of your resemblance.
Œdip. ’Tis well! I thank you, gods! ’tis wondrous well!
Daggers, and poison! O there is no need
For my dispatch: And you, you merciless powers,
Hoard up your thunder-stones; keep, keep your bolts,
For crimes of little note.[Falls.
Adr. Help, Hæmon, help, and bow him gently forward;
Chafe, chafe his temples: How the mighty spirits,
Half-strangled with the damp his sorrows raised,
Struggle for vent! But see, he breathes again,
And vigorous nature breaks through opposition. —
How fares my royal friend?
Œdip. The worse for you.
O barbarous men, and oh the hated light,
Why did you force me back, to curse the day;
To curse my friends; to blast with this dark breath
The yet untainted earth and circling air?
To raise new plagues, and call new vengeance down,
Why did you tempt the gods, and dare to touch me?
Methinks there’s not a hand that grasps this hell,
But should run up like flax all blazing fire.
Stand from this spot, I wish you as my friends,
And come not near me, lest the gaping earth
Swallow you too. — Lo, I am gone already. [Draws, and claps his Sword to his Breast, which Adrastus strikes away with his Foot.
Adr. You shall no more be trusted with your life: —
Creon, Alcander, Hæmon, help to hold him.
Œdip. Cruel Adrastus! wilt thou, Hæmon, too?
Are these the obligations of my friends?
O worse than worst of my most barbarous foes!
Dear, dear Adrastus, look with half an eye
On my unheard of woes, and judge thyself,
If it be fit that such a wretch should live!
O, by these melting eyes, unused to weep,
With all the low submissions of a slave,
I do conjure thee, give my horrors way!
Talk not of life, for that will make me rave:
As well thou may’st advise a tortured wretch,
All mangled o’er from head to foot with wounds,
And his bones broke, to wait a better day.
Adr. My lord, you ask me things impossible;
And I with justice should be thought your foe,
To leave you in this tempest of your soul.
Tir. Though banished Thebes, in Corinth you may reign;
The infernal powers themselves exact no more:
Calm then your rage, and once more seek the gods.
Œdip. I’ll have no more to do with gods, nor men;
Hence, from my arms, avaunt. Enjoy thy mother!
What, violate, with bestial appetite,
The sacred veils that wrapt thee yet unborn!
This is not to be borne! Hence; off, I say!
For they, who let my vengeance, make themselves
Accomplices in my most horrid guilt.
Adr. Let it be so; we’ll fence heav’n’s fury from you,
And suffer all together. This, perhaps,
When ruin comes, may help to break your fall.
Œdip. O that, as oft I have at Athens seen
The stage arise, and the big clouds descend;
So now, in very deed I might behold
The pond’rous earth, and all yon marble roof
Meet, like the hand of Jove, and crush mankind!
For all the elements, and all the powers
Celestial, nay, terrestrial, and infernal,
Conspire the wreck of out-cast Œdipus!
Fall darkness then, and everlasting night
Shadow the globe; may the sun never dawn;
The silver moon be blotted from her orb;
And for an universal rout of nature
Through all the inmost chambers of the sky,
May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark,
But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark;
That jars may rise, and wrath divine be hurled,
Which may to atoms shake the solid world![Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Enter Creon, Alcander, and Pyracmon.
Creon. Thebes is at length my own; and all my wishes,
Which sure were great as royalty e’er formed,
Fortune and my auspicious stars have crowned.
O diadem, thou centre of ambition,
Where all its different lines are reconciled,
As if thou wert the burning glass of glory!
Pyr. Might I be counsellor, I would intreat you
To cool a little, sir; find out Eurydice;
And, with the resolution of a man
Marked out for greatness, give the fatal choice
Of death or marriage.
Alc. Survey cursed Œdipus,
As one who, though unfortunate, beloved,
Thought innocent, and therefore much lamented
By all the Thebans: you must mark him dead,
Since nothing but his death, not banishment,
Can give assurance to your doubtful reign.
Cre. Well have you done, to snatch me from the storm
Of racking transport, where the little streams
Of love, revenge, and all the under passions,
As waters are by sucking whirlpools drawn,
Were quite devoured in the vast gulph of empire.
Therefore, Pyracmon, as you boldly urged,
Eurydice shall die, or be my bride.
Alcander, summon to their master’s aid
My menial servants, and all those whom change
Of state, and hope of the new monarch’s favour,
Can win to take our part: Away. — What now?[Exit Alcander.
Enter Hæmon.
When Hæmon weeps, without the help of ghosts
I may foretel there is a fatal cause.
Hæm. Is’t possible you should be ignorant
Of what has happened to the desperate king?
Cre. I know no more but that he was conducted
Into his closet, where I saw him fling
His trembling body on the royal bed;
All left him there, at his desire, alone;
But sure no ill, unless he died with grief,
Could happen, for you bore his sword away.
Hæm. I did; and, having locked the door, I stood;
And through a chink I found, not only heard,
But saw him, when he thought no eye beheld him.
At first, deep sighs heaved from his woful heart
Murmurs, and groans that shook the outward rooms.
And art thou still alive, O wretch! he cried;
Then groaned again, as if his sorrowful soul
Had cracked the strings of life, and burst away.
Cre. I weep to hear; how then should I have grieved,
Had I beheld this wondrous heap of sorrow!
But, to the fatal period.
Hæm. Thrice he struck,
With all his force, his hollow groaning breast,
And thus, with outcries, to himself complained: —
But thou canst weep then, and thou think’st ’tis well,
These bubbles of the shallowest emptiest sorrow,
Which children vent for toys, and women rain
For any trifle their fond hearts are set on;
Yet these thou think’st are ample satisfaction
For bloodiest murder, and for burning lust:
No, parricide! if thou must weep, weep blood;
Weep eyes, instead of tears: — O, by the gods!
’Tis greatly thought, he cried, and fits my woes.
Which said, he smiled revengefully, and leapt
Upon the fl
oor; thence gazing at the skies,
His eye-balls fiery red, and glowing vengeance, —
Gods I accuse you not, though I no more
Will view your heaven, till, with more durable glasses,
The mighty soul’s immortal perspectives,
I find your dazzling beings: Take, he cried,
Take, eyes, your last, your fatal farewel-view.
Then with a groan, that seemed the call of death,
With horrid force lifting his impious hands,
He snatched, he tore, from forth their bloody orbs,
The balls of sight, and dashed them on the ground.
Cre. A master-piece of horror; new and dreadful!
Hæm. I ran to succour him; but, oh! too late;
For he had plucked the remnant strings away.
What then remains, but that I find Tiresias,
Who, with his wisdom, may allay those furies,
That haunt his gloomy soul?[Exit.
Cre. Heaven will reward
Thy care, most honest, faithful, — foolish Hæmon!
But see, Alcander enters, well attended.
Enter Alcander, attended.
I see thou hast been diligent.
Alc. Nothing these,
For number, to the crowds that soon will follow;
Be resolute,
And call your utmost fury to revenge.
Cre. Ha! thou hast given
The alarm to cruelty; and never may
These eyes be closed, till they behold Adrastus
Stretched at the feet of false Eurydice.
But see, they are here! retire a while, and mark.
Enter Adrastus, and Eurydice, attended.
Adr. Alas, Eurydice, what fond rash man,
What inconsiderate and ambitious fool,
That shall hereafter read the fate of Œdipus,
Will dare, with his frail hand, to grasp a sceptre?
Eur. ’Tis true, a crown seems dreadful, and I wish
That you and I, more lowly placed, might pass
Our softer hours in humble cells away:
Not but I love you to that infinite height,
I could (O wondrous proof of fiercest love!)
Be greatly wretched in a court with you.
Adr. Take then this most loved innocence away;
Fly from tumultuous Thebes, from blood and murder,
Fly from the author of all villainies,
Rapes, death, and treason, from that fury Creon:
Vouchsafe that I, o’er-joyed, may bear you hence,
And at your feet present the crown of Argos. [Creon and attendants come up to him.
Cre. I have o’er-heard thy black design, Adrastus,
And therefore, as a traitor to this state,
Death ought to be thy lot: Let it suffice
That Thebes surveys thee as a prince; abuse not
Her proffered mercy, but retire betimes,