KING OEDIPUS
Oedipus—Priest of Zeus
(with the Train of Suppliants grouped before an altar).
Oedipus. Nurslings of Cadmus, children of my care,
Why press ye now to kneel before my gate
With sacred branches in those suppliant hands,
While o’er your city clouds of incense rise
And sounds of praise, mingling with sounds of woe?
I would not learn of your estate, my sons,
Through others; wherefore I myself am come,
Your Oedipus,—a name well known to men.
Speak, aged friend, whose look proclaims thee meet
To be their spokesman:—What desire, what fear
Hath brought you? Doubt not of my earnest will
To lend all succour. Hard would be the heart
That looked unmoved on such a kneeling throng.
Priest. Great ruler of my country, thou beholdest
The different ages of our flock who here
Are gathered round thine altar;—some, whose wing
Hath not yet ventured far from home; and some
Burdened with many years, priests of the Gods,
Myself the arch-priest of Zeus; and these fresh youths,
A chosen few. Others there are who crowd
The holy agora and the temples twain
Of Pallas, and Ismenus’ hallowed fires,
A suppliant host. For, as thyself perceivest,
Our city is tempest-tost, and all too weak
To lift above the waves her weary prow
That plunges in a rude and ravenous sea.
Earth’s buds are nipped, withering the germs within;
Our cattle lose their increase, and our wives
Have fruitless travail; and that scourge from Heaven,
The fiery Pestilence abhorred of men,
Descending on our people with dire stroke
