Cor. Sh. Light pressure lays to rest the timeworn frame.
Oed. He was subdued by sickness then, poor soul!
Cor. Sh. By sickness and the burden of his years.
Oed. Ah! my Jocasta, who again will heed
The Pythian hearth oracular, and birds
Screaming in air, blind guides! that would have made
My father’s death my deed; but he is gone,
Hidden underneath the ground, while I stand here
Harmless and weaponless:—unless, perchance,
My absence killed him,—so he may have died
Through me. But be that as it may, the grave
That covers Polybus, hath silenced, too,
One voice of prophecy, worth nothing now.
Jo. Did I not tell thee so, long since?
Oed. Thou didst.
But I was drawn to error by my fear.
Jo. Now cast it altogether out of mind.
Oed. Must I not fear my mother’s marriage-bed?
Jo. Why should man fear, seeing his course is ruled
By fortune, and he nothing can foreknow?
’Tis best to live at ease as best one may.
Then fear not thou thy mother’s nuptial hour.
Many a man ere now in dreams hath lain
With her who bare him. He hath least annoy
Who with. such omens troubleth not his mind.
Oed. That word would be well spoken, were not she
Alive that gave me birth. But since she lives,
Though you speak well, yet have I cause for fear.
Jo. Your father’s burial might enlighten you.
Oed. It doth. But I am darkened by a life.
Cor. Sh. Whose being overshadows thee with fear?
Oed. Queen Meropè, the consort of your king.
Cor. Sh. What in her life should make your heart afraid?
Oed. A heaven-sent oracle of dreadful sound.
Cor. Sh. May it be told, or must no stranger know?
Oed. Indeed it may. Word came from Phoebus once
That I must know my mother’s shame, and shed
With these my hands my own true father’s blood.
