This sorcerer, this artificer of wiles,

Whose strains delude the people, sharp of sight
To lucre only, to his science blind.

Where hast thou e'er display'd a prophet's skill? Why, when the ravening hound of hell her charm Mysterious chanted, for thy country wise/ Didst thou not solve it? Of no vulgar mind Was this the task; the prophet this required. No knowledge then from birds didst thou receive, None from the gods to unfold it; but I came, This nothing-knowing Edipus, and quell'd The monster, piercing through her dark device By reason's force, not taught by flight of birds. Yet dost thou now assay to drive me out, Weening to have thy stand by Creon's throne. But thou, and he who form'd this base design With thee, shall feel my power: but that thine age Some reverence claims, thou shouldst e'en now be And feel the madness of thine enterprise. [taught, Chor. If we conjecture right, his words burst forth By passion dictated; and thine, O king,

No less: these things behove not; best advise
How to explore the answer of the god.
Thou art a king; yet I have equal right
To answer thee; this power is mine; to thee
I am no vassal; Phoebus is my lord:
Nor will I be enroll'd 'mongst those who wait
On Creon for support. I tell thee then,

Me since with taunts thou hast reviled as blind,
Thou hast indeed thine eyes, yet canst not see
What ills enclose thee round, nor where thou hast
Thy habitation, nor with whom thou livest.
Know'st thou who gave thee birth? Thou art a foe-
And know'st it not-to those allied to thee
Most closely, whom the realms beneath contain, ›
And who behold the light of heaven. The curse
Of father and of mother on each side

With dreadful steps pursues thee, and ere long
Will chase thee from this land, now bless'd with sight,
Then blind. How will Citharon, how each strand
Ere long re-echo to thy mournful cries,

When thou shalt know that, driven by swelling gales,
The port of marriage thou hast gain'd, thy bark
Where anchor cannot hold! The numerous train

Hold converse nor with these, nor me; for thou
Art the accursed polluter of this land.

Edip. Hast thou no sense of shame, that thou hast dared
Utter such taunt? How think'st thou to escape?

Tir. I have escaped, e'en by the potent, truth

Edip.

Tir.

Edip.

Tir.

Edip.

Tir.

Which I maintain.

By whom hast thou been taught?

Not by thy art divine.

By thee, constrain'd

Unwillingly to speak.

What? Speak the words

Again; my knowledge so will be more clear.
Were they abstruse? or dost thou bid me speak
To try me?

Not to speak it as a thing
Known; yet repeat thy words.
Again I say,

Thou art the much-sought murderer of the king.
Edip. Thou shalt not triumph for this second taunt.
Tir. More shall I speak, then, and enrage thee more?
Edip. Say what thou wilt, it will be said in vain.

Tir.

I say, flagitious is thy intercourse

With those most dear to thee; thou know'st not this, Nor seest the ills in which thou art involved. Edip. Think'st thou no vengeance such reproach awaits? Tir. I have no fear, if truth hath aught of power. Edip. It hath, but not for thee; it is not thine;

Thy ears, thy soul, e'en as thine eyes, are blind. Tir. Unhappy thou, in thus reproaching me;

For soon on thee the same reproach shall fall. Edip. Confiding in thy blindness, thou from me,

Or any that have eyes, no vengeance fear'st. Tir. To fall by thee is not my fate; those things Belong to Phoebus; ample is his power. Edip. The fiction this of Creon, or thine own?

Tir.

Creon ne'er wrought thee ill: the work is thine. Edip. O greatness, empire, and thou noblest art That givest to life its glory, most desired, What baleful envy on your splendour waits, Since for this royal power by me unsought, But by the state presented a free gift, The faithful Creon, who the first appear'd My friend, with dark and secret malice works, Wishing my ruin, and suborns this wretch,

This sorcerer, this artificer of wiles,

Whose strains delude the people, sharp of sight To lucre only, to his science blind. 1 Where hast thou e'er display'd a prophet's skill? Why, when the ravening hound of hell her charm Mysterious chanted, for thy country wise?? Didst thou not solve it? Of no vulgar mind Was this the task; the prophet this required. No knowledge then from birds didst thou receive, None from the gods to unfold it; but I came, This nothing-knowing Edipus, and quell'd The monster, piercing through her dark device By reason's force, not taught by flight of birds. Yet dost thou now assay to drive me out, Weening to have thy stand by Creon's throne.n But thou, and he who form'd this base design With thee, shall feel my power: but that thine age Some reverence claims, thou shouldst e'en now be And feel the madness of thine enterprise. [taught, Chor. If we conjecture right, his words burst forth By passion dictated; and thine, O king, No less: these things behove not; best advise How to explore the answer of the god. Thou art a king; yet I have equal right To answer thee; this power is mine; to thee I am no vassal; Phoebus is my lord: A Nor will I be enroll'd 'mongst those who wait On Creon for support. I tell thee then, Me since with taunts thou hast reviled as blind, Thou hast indeed thine eyes, yet canst not see What ills enclose thee round, nor where thou hast Thy habitation, nor with whom thou livest.

Tir.

Know'st thou who gave thee birth? Thou art a foe-
And know'st it not-to those allied to thee
Most closely, whom the realms beneath contain,
And who behold the light of heaven. The curse
Of father and of mother on each side

With dreadful steps pursues thee, and ere long
Will chase thee from this land, now bless'd with sight,
Then blind. How will Citharon, how each strand
Ere long re-echo to thy mournful cries,

When thou shalt know that, driven by swelling gales,
The port of marriage thou hast gain'd, thy bark
Where anchor cannot hold! The numerous train

Of other ills thou seest not, which will rank
In the same line thee and thy sons alike.
Go to; with foul revilings Creon taunt,

And my true voice, yet thing more vile than thou
Is not mong mortals that shall e'er be crush'd.
Edip. From him these piercing insults must I bear?
Perdition on thee! hence, away, begone!
Tir. I had not come, hadst thou not sent for me
Edip. I knew thee not in speech so void of sense,
Or here thy presence I had scarce required.
Such thou mayst deem my spirit, void of sense:
But they who gave thee birth esteem'd me wise.
Edip. Who are they? Stay! Of those that breathe to whom
Owe I my birth?

Tir.

Tir.

Thy birth this day will show,
This day will show the horrors of thy fate.
Edip. How dark, how full of mystery all thy words!
Tir. Such to unfold well suits thy piercing mind.
(Edip. My glory thou wouldst turn to my reproach.
Tir. That glory hath brought ruin on thy head.
Edip. If I have saved this realm, I reck not that.

Tir.

Well then, I now depart. Boy, lead me hence. Edip. Ay, let him lead thee; for thy presence throws Confusion on the affairs that now engage

Tir.

Our care: begone, and trouble us no more.
I go: but first will speak for what I came,
Nor dread thy frown; thy vengeance hath no power
To touch my life. I tell thee that the man

Whom thou hast sought, 'gainst whom thy solemn
charge,

Thy threats have been proclaim'd, that man is here;
Of foreign birth now deem'd, his residence
Here fixing; but full soon he shall be found
A Theban born, nor in his fortune long
Rejoice; his visual ray in darkness quench'd,
His high state sunk to beggary, a staff
Shall to a foreign land his steps direct.
A brother and a father to his sons

Shall he appear; to her that gave him birth,
A son and husband; to his father found
A rival and a murderer. Go thou in;

Muse on these things; say, if thou find them false,
No portion of a prophet's skill is mine.

Potter's Sophocles.

Clytemnestra, Iphigenia, and Agamemnon.

Clyt. Now hear me; for my thoughts will I unfold
In no obscure and colour'd mode of speech.

First then-for first with this will I upbraid thee—
Me didst thou wed against my will, and seize
By force; my former husband, Tantalus,
By thee was slain; by thee my infant son,
Torn from my breast by violence, was whirl'd
And dash'd against the ground: the sous of Jove,
My brothers, glittering on their steeds in arms,
Advanced against thee; but old Tyndarus,
My father, saved thee, at his knees become
A suppliant; and hence didst thou obtain
My bed: to thee and to thy house my thoughts
Thus reconciled, thou shalt thyself attest
How irreproachable a wife I was,

How chaste, with what attention I increased
The splendour of thy house, that entering there
Thou hadst delight, and going out, with thee
Went happiness along. A wife like this
Is a rare prize; the worthless are not rare.
Three daughters have I borne thee, and this son;
Of one of these wilt thou-oh piercing grief!-
Deprive me? Should one ask thee, for what cause
Thy daughter wouldst thou kill, what wouldst thou
say?

Speak; or must I speak for thee? E'en for this,
That Menelaus may regain Helena,

Well would it be, if, for his wanton wife
Our children made the price, what most we hate
With what is dearest to us we redeem.

But if thou lead the forces, leaving me

At Argos, should thy absence then be long,
Think what my heart must feel, when in the house
I see the seats all vacant of my child,

And her apartment vacant; I shall sit
Alone, in tears, thus ever wailing her:

"Thy father, O my child! hath slain thee; he

That gave thee birth, hath kill'd thee; not another;

Nor by another hand: this is the prize,

He left his house." But do not, by the gods!-
Do not compel me to be aught but good

To thee, nor be thou aught but good to me: