OCR Text |
Show 9* OEDIPUS. Enter Oedipus. Oed. O , 'tis too little this thy lofs of Sight; What has it done ? I fhall be gaz'd at now The more j be pointed at, There goes the Monflcr: Nor have I hid m y horrors from m y felf j For tho' corporeal Light be loft for ever , The bright reflecting Soul, through glaring Optickj Prefents in larger fize her black Idea's, Doubling the bloody profpect of m y Crimes • Holds Fancy down , and makes her act again With Wife and Mother , Tortures , Hell and Furies. H a ! N o w the baleful Off-fpring's brought to light L In horrid form they rank themfelves before m e / What fhall I call this Mcdly of Creation? Here one , wirh all th' obedience of a Son, Borrowing Jocafta s look , kneels at m y Feet, And calls m e Father , there a fturdy Boy, llefembling Lajus juft as when I kill'd him, Bears up, and with his cold Hand grafping mine, Cries out, H o w fares m y Brother Oedipus t What, Sons and Brothers! Sifters and Daughters too? Fly all, begone, fly from m y whirling Brain; Hence, Inceit, Murder; hence you ghaftly Fiomes I O Gods ! Gods , anfwer; is there any mean ? Let m e go m a d , or dye. Enter Jocafta. Joe. Where , where is this moft wretched of Mankind ? This itatcly Image of Imperial Sorrow j Whole Story toJd , whofe very N a m e but mention'd, Would ccol the rage of Fevers, and unlock The hand of Luft from the pale Virgin's Hair, And OEDIPUS. 9! And throw the Ravifhct before her Feet ? Oed. By all m y Fears, I thmk Jocafta's Voice t Hence , fly ; begon : O thou far worfe than worft O f damning Char mcrs / O abhorr'd loath'd Creature! Fly, by the Gods , or by the Fiends, I charge thec, Far astheEaft , Weft, North, or South of Heav'n j But think no: thou fhalt evet enter there : The Golden Gates are barr'd with Adamant, •Gainft thee, and m e •, and the Celeflial Guards, Still as w e rife, will dafh our Spirits down. Joe. O wretched Pair ! O greatly wretched w e! T w o Worlds of W o e ! Oed. Art thou not gone then ? H a ! H o w dar'ft rhou ftand the Fury of the Gods ? Or com'ft thou in the Grave to reap ncwplcafures ? Joe. Talk on : till thou mak'fl mad my rowling Brain ,- Groan ftill more Death; and may thofe difmal Sources Still bubble on, and pour forth Blood and Tears. Methinks at fuch a meeting , Heav'n flands ftill ; The Sea nor Ebbs, nor Flows: this Mole-hill Earth Is heav'd no more : the bufie Emmets ceafe,- Yet hear m e on - • Oed. Speak then, and blait m y Soul. Joe. O, m y lov'd Lord, tho' I rcfolvca Ruine T o march m y Crimes -, by all m y Mifcries, 'Tis horror, worfe than thoufand thoufand deaths, T o fend m e hence without a kind farewel. Oed. Gods, how the fhakes m c 1 ftay then, O Jocafta ! Speak fomething e're thou goeft for ever from mc. f oc.'Tis Woman's weaknels that I would be pity'd; Pardon m e then, O greateft , tho' moft wretched O f all thy Kind : m y Soul is on the brink, And fees the boiling Furnace juft beneath: D o not thou pufli m c oft, and I will go With fuch a willingnefs, as if that Heav'n With |