Sophocles (c.496 B.C.–406 B.C.). Oedipus the King.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Lines 1–499

Enter ŒDIPUS

ŒDIPUS;WHY sit ye here, my children, brood last rearedOf Cadmus famed of old, in solemn state,Uplifting in your hands the suppliants’ boughs?And all the city reeks with incense smoke,And all re-echoes with your wailing hymns;And I, my children, counting it unmeetTo hear report from others, I have comeMyself, whom all name Œdipus the Great.—Do thou, then, agèd Sire, since thine the rightTo speak for these, tell clearly why ye standAwe-stricken, or adoring; speak to meAs willing helper. Dull and cold this heartTo see you prostrate thus, and feel no ruth.PRIESTYes, Œdipus, thou ruler of my land,Thou seest us how we sit, as suppliants, bowedAround thine altars; some as yet unfledgedTo wing their flight, and some weighed down with age.Priest, I, of Zeus, and these the chosen youth:And in the open spaces of the townThe people sit and wail, with wreath in hand,By the twin shrine of Pallas, or the groveOracular that bears Ismenus’ name.For this our city, as thine eyes may see,Is sorely tempest-tossed, nor lifts its headFrom out the surging sea of blood-flecked waves,All smitten in the fruitful blooms of earth,All smitten in the herds that graze the fields,Yea, and in timeless births of woman’s fruit;And still the God sends forth his darts of fire,And lays us low. The plague, abhorred and feared,Makes desolate the home where Cadmus dwelt,And Hades dark grows rich in sighs and groans.It is not that we count thee as a God,Equalled with them in power, that we sit here,These little ones and I, as suppliants prone;But, judging thee, in all life’s shifting scenes,Chiefest of men, yea, and of chiefest skill,To soothe the powers of Heaven. For thou it wasThat freed’st this city, named of Cadmus old,From the sad tribute which of yore we paidTo that stern songstress, all untaught of us,And all unprompted; but at God’s behest,Men think and say, thou guidest all our life.And now, O Œdipus, most honoured lord,We pray thee, we, thy suppliants, find for usSome succour, whether floating voice of God,Or speech of man brings knowledge to thy soul;For still I see, with those whom life has trainedTo long-tried skill, the issues of their thoughtsLive and are mighty. Come, then, noblest one,Come, save our city; look on us, and fear.As yet this land, for all thy former zeal,Calls thee its saviour: do not give us causeSo to remember this thy reign, as menWho, having risen, then fall low again;But save us, save our city. Omens goodWere then with thee; thou didst thy work, and nowBe equal to thyself! If thou wilt rule,As thou dost rule, this land wherein we dwell,’Twere better far to reign o’er living menThan o’er a realm dispeopled. Naught avails,Or tower or ship, when crew and guards are gone.ŒDIP.O children, wailing loud, ye tell me notOf woes unknown; too well I know them all,Your sorrows and your wants. For one and allAre stricken, yet no sorrow like to mineWeighs on you. Each his own sad burden bears,His own and not another’s. But my heartMourns for the people’s sorrow and mine own;And, lo! ye have not come to break my sleep,But found me weeping, weeping bitter tears,And treading weary paths in wandering thought;And that one way of healing which I found,That have I acted on. Menœkeus’ son,Creon, my kinsman, have I sent to seekThe Pythian home of Phœbus, there to learnThe words or deeds wherewith to save the state;And even now I measure o’er the timeAnd wonder how he fares, for, lo! he stays,I know not why, beyond the appointed day;But when he comes I should be base indeed,Failing to do whate’er the God declares.PRIESTWell hast thou spoken! Tidings come e’en nowOf Creon seen approaching.ŒDIP.Grant, O KingApollo, that he come with omen good,Bright with the cheer of one that bringeth life.PRIESTIf one may guess, ’tis well. He had not comeHis head all wreathed with boughs of laurel else.ŒDIP.Soon we shall know. Our voice can reach him now.Say, prince, our well-beloved, Menœkeus’ son,What sacred answer bring’st thou from the God?

Enter CREON

CREON.A right good answer! That our evil plight,If all goes well, may end in highest good.ŒDIP.What means this speech? Nor full of eager hope,Nor trembling panic, list I to thy words.CREON.I for my part am ready, these being by,to tell thee all, or go within the gates.ŒDIP.Speak out to all. I sorrow more for themThan for the woe which touches me alone.CREON.Well, then, I speak the things the God declared.Phœbus, our king, he bids us chase away(The words were plain) the infection of our land,Nor cherish guilt which still remains unhealed.ŒDIP.But with what rites? And what the deed itself?CREON.Drive into exile, blood for blood repay.That guilt of blood is blasting all the state.ŒDIP.But whose fate is it that thou hintest at?CREON.Once, O my king, ere thou didst raise our state,Our sovereign Laius ruled o’er all the land.ŒDIP.This know I well, though him I never saw.CREON.Well, then, the God commands us, he being dead,To take revenge on those who shed his blood.ŒDIP.Yes; but where are they? How to track the courseOf guilt all shrouded in the doubtful past?CREON.In this our land, so said he, those who seekShall find; unsought, we lose it utterly.ŒDIP.Was it at home, or in the field, or elseIn some strange land that Laius met his doom?CREON.He went, so spake he, pilgrim-wise afar,And nevermore came back as forth he went.ŒDIP.Was there no courier, none who shared his road,From whom, inquiring, one might learn the truth?CREON.Dead are they all, save one who fled for fear,And he had naught to tell but this:…ŒDIP.[interrupting] And what was that? One fact might teach us much,Had we but one small starting-point of hope.CREON.He used to tell that robbers fell on him,Not man for man, but with outnumbering force.ŒDIP.Yet sure no robber would have dared this deed,Unless some bribe had tempted him from hence.CREON.So men might think; but Laius at his deathFound none to help, or ’venge him in his woe.ŒDIP.What hindered you, when thus your sovereigntyHad fallen low, from searching out the truth?CREON.The Sphinx, with her dark riddle, bade us lookAt nearer facts, and leave the dim obscure.ŒDIP.Well, be it mine to track them to their source.Right well hath Phœbus, and right well hast thou,Shown for the dead your care, and ye shall find,As is most meet, in me a helper true,Aiding at once my country and the God.Not for the sake of friends, or near or far,But for mine own, will I dispel this curse;For he that slew him, whosoe’er he be,Will wish, perchance, with such a blow to smiteMe also. Helping him, I help myself.And now, my children, rise with utmost speedFrom off these steps, and raise your suppliant boughs;And let another call my people here,The race of Cadmus, and make known that IWill do my taskwork to the uttermost:So, as God wills, we prosper, or we fail.PRIESTRise, then, my children, ’twas for this we came,For these good tidings which those lips have brought,And Phœbus, he who sent these oracles,Pray that he come to heal, and save from woe.[Exeunt CREON and Priest.

STROPH. I

CHORUSO voice of Zeus sweet-toned, with what intentCam’st thou from Pytho, where the red gold shines,To Thebes, of high estate?Fainting for fear, I quiver in suspense(Hear us, O healer! God of Delos, hear!),In brooding dread, what doom, of present growth,Or as the months roll on, thy hand will work;Tell me, O Voice divine, thou child of golden hope!

ANTISTROPH. I

Thee first, Zeus-born Athene, thee I call;And next thy sister, Goddess of our land,Our Artemis, who in the market sitsIn queenly pride, upon her orbed throne;And Phœbus, the fair darter! O ye Three,Shine on us, and deliver us from ill!If e’er before, when waves or storms of woeRushed on our state, ye drove awayThe fiery tide of ill,Come also now!

STROPH. II

Yea, come, ye Gods, for sorrows numberlessPress on my soul;And all the host is smitten, and our thoughtsLack weapons to resist.For increase fails of all the fruits of earth,And women faint in childbirth’s wailing pangs,And one by one, as flit the swift-winged birds,So, flitting to the shore of Hades dark,Fleeter than lightning’s flash,Thou seest them passing on.

ANTISTROPH. II

Yea, numberless are they who perish thus,And on the soil, plague-breeding, lieInfants unpitied, cast out ruthlessly;And wives and mothers, gray with hoary age,Some here, some there, by every altar mourn,With woe and sorrow crushed,And chant their wailing plaint.Clear thrills the sense their solemn litany,And the low anthem sung in unison.Hear, then, thou golden daughter of great Zeus,And send us help, bright-faced as is the morn.

STROPH. III

And Ares the destroyer drive away!Who now, though hushed the din of brazen shield,With battle-cry wars on me fierce and hot.Bid him go back in flight,Retreat from this our land,Or to the ocean bed,Where Amphitrite sleeps,Or to the homeless seaWhich sweeps the Thracian shore.If waning night spares aughtThat doth the day assail:Do thou, then, Sire almighty,Wielding the lightning’s strength,Blast him with thy hot thunder.

ANTISTROPH. III

And thou, Lyceian king, the wolf’s dread foe,Fain would I see thy dartsFrom out thy golden bowGo forth invincible,Helping and bringing aid;And with them, winged with fire,The rays of Artemis,With which, on Lycian hills,She moveth on her course.And last I call on thee,Thou of the golden crown,Guardian of this our land,Bacchus, all purple-flushed,With clamour loud and long,Wandering with Maenads wild;I call on thee to come,Flashing with blazing torch,Against the God whom all the Gods disown.ŒDIP.Thou prayest, and for thy prayers, if thou wilt hearMy words, and treat the dire disease with skill,Thou shalt find help and respite from thy pain,—My words, which I, a stranger to report,A stranger to the deed, will now declare:For I myself should fail to track it far,Unless some footprints guided me aright.But now, since here I stand, the latest come,A citizen to citizens, I speakTo all the sons of Cadmus. Lives there oneWho knows of Laitus, son of Labdacus,The hand that slew him; him I bid to tellHis tale to me; and should it chance he shrinks,Fearing the charge against himself to bring,Still let him speak; no heavier doom is hisThan to depart uninjured from the land;Or, if there be that knows an alien armAs guilty, let him hold his peace no more;I will secure his gain and thanks beside.But if ye hold your peace, if one through fearShall stifle words his bosom friend may drop,What then I purpose let him hear from me:That man I banish, whosoe’er he be,From out the land whose power and throne are mine;And none may give him shelter, none speak to him,Nor join with him in prayer and sacrifice,Nor pour for him the stream that cleanses guilt;But all shall thrust him from their homes, abhorred,Our curse and our pollution, as the wordProphetic of the Pythian God has shown:Such as I am, I stand before you here,A helper to the God and to the dead.And for the man who did the guilty deed,Whether alone he lurks, or leagued with more,I pray that he may waste his life away,For vile deeds vilely dying; and for me,If in my house, I knowing it, he dwells,May every curse I speak on my head fall.And this I charge you do, for mine own sake,And for the God’s, and for the land that pines,Barren and god-deserted. Wrong ’twould be,E’en if no voice from heaven had urged us on,That ye should leave the stain of guilt uncleansed,Your noblest chief, your king himself, being slain.Yea, rather, seek and find. And since I reign,Wielding the might his hand did wield before,Filling his couch, and calling his wife mine,Yea, and our children too, but for the fateThat fell on his, had grown up owned by both;But so it is. On his head fell the doom;And therefore will I strive my best for him,As for my father, and will go all lengthsTo seek and find the murderer, him who slewThe son of Labdacus, and Polydore,And earlier Cadmus, and Agenor old;And for all those who hearken not, I prayThe Gods to give then neither fruit of earth,Nor seed of woman, but consume their livesWith this dire plague, or evil worse than this.And you, the rest, the men from Cadmus sprung,To whom these words approve themselves as good,May righteousness befriend you, and the Gods,In full accord, dwell with you evermore.CHORUSSince thou hast bound me by a curse, O king,I needs must speak. I neither slew the man,Nor know who slew. To say who did the deedBelongs to him who sent this oracle.ŒDIP.Right well thou speak’st, but man’s best strength must failTo force the Gods to do the things they will not.CHORUSAnd may I speak a second time my thoughts?ŒDIP.If ’twere a third, shrink not from speaking out.CHORUSOne man I know, a prince, whose insight deepSees clear as princely Phœbus, and from him,Teiresias, one might learn, O king, the truth.ŒDIP.That, too, is done. No loiterer I in this,For I have sent, on Creon’s hint, two bandsTo summon him, and wonder that he comes not.CHORUSOld rumours are there also, dark and dumb.ŒDIP.And what are they? I weigh the slightest word.CHORUS’Twas said he died by some chance traveller’s hand.ŒDIP.I, too, heard that. But none knows who was by.CHORUSIf yet his soul is capable of awe,Hearing thy curses, he will shrink from them.ŒDIP.Words fright not him who, doing, knows no fear.CHORUSWell, here is one who’ll put him to the proof.For, lo! they bring the seer inspired of God;Chosen of all men, vessel of the truth.

Enter TEIRESIAS, blind, and guided by a boy

ŒDIP.Teiresias! thou whose mind embraceth all,Told or untold, the things of heaven or earth;Thou knowest, although thou seest not, what a pestDwells on us, and we find in thee, O prince,Our one deliverer, yea, our only help.For Phœbus (if, perchance, thou hast not heard)Sent back this word to us, who sent to ask,That this one way was open to escapeFrom the fell plague; if those who Laius slew,We in our turn, discovering, should slay,Or drive them forth as exiles from the land.Thou, therefore, grudge not either sign from birds,Or any other path of prophecy;But save the city, save thyself, save me;Lift off the guilt that death has left behind;On thee we hang. To use our means, our power,In doing good, is noblest service owned.