Creon: Thou art as sullen in thy yielding mood As in thine anger thou wast truculent. Such tempers justly plague themselves the most.
Oedipus: Leave me in peace and get thee gone.
Creon: I go, By thee misjudged, but justified by these. Exeunt Creon.
Chorus: Antistrophe 1
Lady, lead indoors thy consort; wherefore longer here delay?
Jocasta: Tell me first how rose the fray.
Chorus: Rumours bred unjust suspicions and injustice rankles sore.
Jocasta: Were both at fault then?
Chorus: Both.
Jocasta: What was the tale?
Chorus: Ask me no more. The land is sore distressed; ’Twere better sleeping ills to leave at rest.
Oedipus: Strange counsel, friend! I know thou mean’st me well, And yet would’st mitigate and blunt my zeal.
Chorus: Antistrophe 2
King, I say it once again, Witless were I proved, insane, If I lightly put away Thee my country’s prop and stay, Pilot who, in danger sought, To a quiet haven brought Our distracted State; and now Who can guide us right but thou?
Jocasta: Let me too, I adjure thee, know, O king, What cause has stirred this unrelenting wrath.
Oedipus: I will, for thou art more to me than these. Lady, the cause is Creon and his plots.
Jocasta: But what provoked the quarrel? make this clear.
Oedipus: He points me out as Laius’ murderer.
Jocasta: Of his own knowledge or upon report?
Oedipus: He is too cunning to commit himself, And makes a mouthpiece of a knavish seer.
Jocasta: Then thou mayest ease thy conscience on that score. Listen and I’ll convince thee that no man Hath scot or lot in the prophetic art. Here is the proof in brief. An oracle Once came to Laius (I will not say ’Twas from the Delphic god himself, but from His ministers) declaring he was doomed To perish by the hand of his own son, A child that should be born to him by me.
Now Laius—so at least report affirmed— Was murdered on a day by highwaymen, No natives, at a spot where three roads meet. As for the child, it was but three days old, When Laius, its ankles pierced and pinned Together, gave it to be cast away By others on the trackless mountain side. So then Apollo brought it not to pass The child should be his father’s murderer,
Or the dread terror find accomplishment, And Laius be slain by his own son. Such was the prophet’s horoscope. O king, Regard it not. Whate’er the god deems fit To search, himself unaided will reveal.
Oedipus: What memories, what wild tumult of the soul Came o’er me, lady, as I heard thee speak!
Jocasta: What mean’st thou? What has shocked and startled thee?