Oedipus: Whom can he mean, the miscreant thus denounced?
Creon: Before thou didst assume the helm of State, The sovereign of this land was Laius.
Oedipus: I heard as much, but never saw the man.
Creon: He fell; and now the god’s command is plain: Punish his takers-off, whoe’er they be.
Oedipus: Where are they? Where in the wide world to find The far, faint traces of a bygone crime?
Creon: In this land, said the god; “who seeks shall find; Who sits with folded hands or sleeps is blind.”
Oedipus: Was he within his palace, or afield, Or traveling, when Laius met his fate?
Creon: Abroad; he started, so he told us, bound For Delphi, but he never thence returned.
Oedipus: Came there no news, no fellow-traveller To give some clue that might be followed up?
Creon: But one escaped, who flying for dear life, Could tell of all he saw but one thing sure.
Oedipus: And what was that? One clue might lead us far With but a spark of hope to guide our quest.
Creon: Robbers, he told us, not one bandit but A troop of knaves, attacked and murdered him.
Oedipus: Did any bandit dare so bold a stroke, Unless indeed he were suborned from Thebes?
Creon: So ’twas surmised, but none was found to avenge His murder mid the trouble that ensued.
Oedipus: What trouble can have hindered a full quest, When royalty had fallen thus miserably?
Creon: The riddling Sphinx compelled us to let slide The dim past and attend to instant needs.
Oedipus: Well, I will start afresh and once again Make dark things clear. Right worthy the concern Of Phoebus, worthy thine too, for the dead; I also, as is meet, will lend my aid To avenge this wrong to Thebes and to the god. Not for some far-off kinsman, but myself, Shall I expel this poison in the blood; For whoso slew that king might have a mind To strike me too with his assassin hand. Therefore in righting him I serve myself. Up, children, haste ye, quit these altar stairs, Take hence your suppliant wands, go summon hither The Theban commons. With the god’s good help Success is sure; ’tis ruin if we fail. Exeunt Oedipus and Creon.
Priest: Come, children, let us hence; these gracious words Forestall the very purpose of our suit. And may the god who sent this oracle Save us withal and rid us of this pest. Exeunt Priest and Suppliants.
Chorus: Strophe 1
Sweet-voiced daughter of Zeus from thy gold-paved Pythian shrine Wafted to Thebes divine, What dost thou bring me? My soul is racked and shivers with fear. (Healer of Delos, hear!) Hast thou some pain unknown before, Or with the circling years renewest a penance of yore? Offspring of golden Hope, thou voice immortal, O tell me.
Antistrophe 1
First on Athenè I call; O Zeus-born goddess, defend! Goddess and sister, befriend, Artemis, Lady of Thebes, high-throned in the midst of our mart! Lord of the death-winged dart! Your threefold aid I crave From death and ruin our city to save. If in the days of old when we nigh had perished, ye drave From our land the fiery plague, be near us now and defend us!
Strophe 2
Ah me, what countless woes are mine! All our host is in decline; Weaponless my spirit lies. Earth her gracious fruits denies; Women wail in barren throes; Life on life downstriken goes, Swifter than the wind bird’s flight, Swifter than the Fire-God’s might, To the westering shores of Night.
Antistrophe 2