Enter the blind Oedipus led by his daughter, Antigone.
Oedipus: Child of an old blind sire, Antigone, What region, say, whose city have we reached? Who will provide today with scanted dole This wanderer? ’Tis little that he craves, And less obtains—that less enough for me; For I am taught by suffering to endure, And the long years that have grown old with me, And last not least, by true nobility. My daughter, if thou seest a resting place On common ground or by some sacred grove, Stay me and set me down. Let us discover Where we have come, for strangers must inquire Of denizens, and do as they are bid.
Antigone: Long-suffering father, Oedipus, the towers That fence the city still are faint and far; But where we stand is surely holy ground; A wilderness of laurel, olive, vine; Within a choir or songster nightingales Are warbling. On this native seat of rock Rest; for an old man thou hast travelled far.
Oedipus: Guide these dark steps and seat me there secure.
Antigone: If time can teach, I need not to be told.
Oedipus: Say, prithee, if thou knowest, where we are.
Antigone: Athens I recognise, but not the spot.
Oedipus: That much we heard from every wayfarer.
Antigone: Shall I go on and ask about the place?
Oedipus: Yes, daughter, if it be inhabited.
Antigone: Sure there are habitations; but no need To leave thee; yonder is a man hard by.
Oedipus: What, moving hitherward and on his way?
Antigone: Say rather, here already. Ask him straight The needful questions, for the man is here.
Enter Stranger.
Oedipus: O stranger, as I learn from her whose eyes Must serve both her and me, that thou art here Sent by some happy chance to serve our doubts—
Stranger: First quit that seat, then question me at large: The spot thou treadest on is holy ground.
Oedipus: What is the site, to what god dedicate?
Stranger: Inviolable, untrod; goddesses, Dread brood of Earth and Darkness, here abide.
Oedipus: Tell me the awful name I should invoke?
Stranger: The Gracious Ones, All-seeing, so our folk Call them, but elsewhere other names are rife.
Oedipus: Then may they show their suppliant grace, for I From this your sanctuary will ne’er depart.
Stranger: What word is this?
Oedipus: The watchword of my fate.
Stranger: Nay, ’tis not mine to bid thee hence without Due warrant and instruction from the State.
Oedipus: Now in God’s name, O stranger, scorn me not As a wayfarer; tell me what I crave.