_Joc._ My lord, my OEdipus, why gaze you now, When the whole heaven is clear, as if the gods Had some new monsters made? will you not turn, And bless your people, who devour each word You breathe?
_OEdip._ It shall be so. Yes, I will die, O Thebes, to save thee! Draw from my heart my blood, with more content Than e'er I wore thy crown.--Yet, O Jocasta! By all the endearments of miraculous love, By all our languishings, our fears in pleasure, Which oft have made us wonder; here I swear, On thy fair hand, upon thy breast I swear, I cannot call to mind, from budding childhood To blooming youth, a crime by me committed, For which the awful gods should doom my death.
_Joc._ 'Tis not you, my lord, But he who murdered Laius, frees the land. Were you, which is impossible, the man, Perhaps my poniard first should drink your blood; But you are innocent, as your Jocasta, From crimes like those. This made me violent To save your life, which you unjust would lose: Nor can you comprehend, with deepest thought, The horrid agony you cast me in, When you resolved to die.
_Joc._ Alas! why start you so? Her stiffening grief, Who saw her children slaughtered all at once, Was dull to mine: Methinks, I should have made My bosom bare against the armed god, To save my OEdipus!
_OEdip._ Pardon me, dear Jocasta! Pardon a heart that sinks with sufferings, And can but vent itself in sobs and murmurs: Yet, to restore my peace, I'll find him out. Yes, yes, you gods! you shall have ample vengeance On Laius' murderer. O, the traitor's name! I'll know't, I will; art shall be conjured for it, And nature all unravelled.
_OEdip._ Rage will have way, and 'tis but just; I'll fetch him, Though lodged in air upon a dragon's wing, Though rocks should hide him: Nay, he shall be dragged From hell, if charms can hurry him along: His ghost shall be, by sage Tiresias' power,-- Tiresias, that rules all beneath the moon,-- Confined to flesh, to suffer death once more; And then be plunged in his first fires again.
_Cre._ My lord, Tiresias attends your pleasure.
_OEdip._ Haste, and bring him in.-- O, my Jocasta, Eurydice, Adrastus, Creon, and all ye Thebans, now the end Of plagues, of madness, murders, prodigies, Draws on: This battle of the heavens and earth Shall by his wisdom be reduced to peace.