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Show I 44 OEDIPUS. But when 'tis great, like mine, and wretched too, Then every Thought draws Blood. Dioc. You are not wretched. Creon. I a m : M y Soul'sill married to my Body, I wou'd be young, be handfom, be belov'd: Cou'd I but breath m y felf into tAdrajlus - Dio. You rave : Call h o m e your Thoughts. Creon. I prithee, let m y Soul take air awhile; Were ihe in Oedipus, I were a King; Then I had kill'd a Monftcr, gain'd a Battel, Anc had m y Rival Pris'ner: Brave, brave Anions! W h y have not I done thefe ) Dio. Your Fortune hinder'd. Creon. There's it: I have a Soul to do 'email; But Forrunc will have nothing done that's great; But by young, handfom Fools: Body and Brawn D o all her W o r k . Hercules was a Fool, And itreight grew famous; amadboifterous fool; Nay worlc, a Women's Fool. Tool is the Stuff, of which Heav'n makes a Hero. Dio. A Serpent ne'er becomes a flying Dragon, Till he has eat a Serpent, Creon. Goes it there ? I underftand thee j I muft kill ^Adraftus. Dio. O r not enjoy your Mifttefs: Eurydice and he are Pris'ners here , But will not long bcfo; this tell-tale Ghoft, Perhaps, will clear 'em both. 1 Creon. Well, 'tis refolv'd. Dio. T h e Princefs walks this way: youmuftnc meet her, Till this be done. Creon. I muft. Dio. She hates your Sight: And more fince you accus'd her. Creon. Urge it not. f I OEDIPUS. 45- I cannot ftay to tell thee m y Defign * For flic's too near. Enter Eurydice. How, Madam, were your Thoughts employ*d? Eur. O n Death , and thec. Creon. Then were rhey not well for ted: Life and m c Had been the better Match. Eur. N o ; I was thinking On two the moft deteftcd things in Nature; And they arc Death and thec. Creon. The Thought of Death , to one near Death , is dreadful : Oh, 'tis a fearful thing to be no more. Or if to be , to wander after Death •, To walk , as Spirits do, in Brakes all D a y ,- And when the Darknefs comes, ro glide in Paths That lead to Graves; and in the filent Vault, Where lies your o w n pale Shrewd , to hover o'er it, Striving to enter your forbidden Corps, And often, often , vainly breathe your Ghoft Into your lifelefs Lips: Then , like a lone , benighted Traveller, Shut out from Lodging , fhall your Groans be anfwer'd By whittling Winds, whofe every Blaft willfhakc Your tender Form to Atoms. Eur. Muft I be this thin Being} And thus wander ? N o Quiet after Death 1 Creon. None : You muft leave This beauteous Body; all this Youth and Frefhnefs Muft be no more the Object of Defire, But a cold lump of Clay ,- Which then your difcontcntcd Ghoft will leave, And loath its former Lodging. This is the belt of what comes after Death, Ev'n |