Oed. Whence came the truth to thee? Not from thine art.
Ti. From thee, whose rage impelled my backward tongue.
Oed. Speak it once more, that I may know the drift.
Ti. Was it so dark ? Or wouldst thou tempt me further?
Oed. I cannot say ’twas clear. Speak it again.
Ti. I say thou art the murderer whom thou seekest.
Oed. Again that baleful word! But thou shalt rue.
Ti. Shall I add more, to aggravate thy wrath?
Oed. All is but idleness. Say what thou wilt.
Ti. I tell thee thou art living unawares
In shameful commerce with thy near’st of blood,
Ignorant of the abyss wherein thou liest.
Oed. Think you to triumph in offending still?
Ti. If Truth have power.
Oed. She hath, but not for thee,
Blind as thou art in eyes and ears and mind.
Ti. O miserable reproach, which all who now
Behold thee, soon shall thunder forth on thee!
Oed. Nursed in unbroken night, thou canst not harm
Or me, or any man who seeth the day.
Ti. No, not from me proceeds thy fall; the God,
Who cares for this, is able to perform it.
Oed. Came this device from Creon or thyself?
Ti. Not Creon: thou art thy sole enemy.
Oed. O wealth and sovereign power and high success
Attained through wisdom and admired of men,
What boundless jealousies environ you!
When for this rule, which to my hand the State
Committed unsolicited and free,
Creon, my first of friends, trusted and sure,
Would undermine and hurl me from my throne,
Meanly suborning such a mendicant
Botcher of lies, this crafty wizard rogue,
Blind in his art, and seeing but for gain.
Where are the proofs of thy prophetic power?
How came it, when the minstrel-hound was here,
This folk had no deliverance through thy word?
