THESEUS.  From many voices in the former time
Telling thy cruel tale of sight destroyed
I have known thee, son of Laius, and to-day
I know thee anew, in learning thou art here. 
Thy raiment, and the sad change in thy face,
Proclaim thee who thou art, and pitying thee,
Dark-fated Oedipus, I fain would hear
What prayer or supplication thou preferrest
To me and to my city, thou and this
Poor maid who moves beside thee.  Full of dread
Must be that fortune thou canst name, which I
Would shrink from, since I know of mine own youth,
How in strange lands a stranger as thou art
I bore the brunt of perilous circumstance
Beyond all others; nor shall any man,
Like thee an alien from his native home,
Find me to turn my face from succouring him. 
I am a man and know it.  To-morrow’s good
Is no more mine than thine or any man’s.

OED. Thy noble spirit, Theseus, in few words
Hath made my task of utterance brief indeed. 
Thou hast told aright my name and parentage
And native city.  Nought remains for me
But to make known mine errand, and our talk
Is ended.

THE.  Tell me plainly thy desire.

OED. I come to offer thee this woe-worn frame,
As a free boon,—­not goodly in outward view. 
A better gift than beauty is that I bring.

THE.  What boon dost thou profess to have brought with thee?

OED. Thou shalt know by and by,—­not yet awhile.

THE.  When comes the revelation of thine aid?

OED. When I am dead, and thou hast buried me.

THE.  Thou cravest the last kindness.  What’s between
Thou dost forget or else neglect.

OED. Herein
One word conveys the assurance of the whole.

THE.  You sum up your petition in brief form.

OED. Look to it.  Great issues hang upon this hour.

THE.  Mean’st thou in this the fortune of thy sons
Or mine?

OED. I mean the force of their behest
Compelling my removal hence to Thebes.

THE.  So thy consent were sought, ’twere fair to yield.

OED. Once I was ready enough.  They would not then.

THE.  Wrath is not wisdom in misfortune, man!

OED. Nay, chide not till thou knowest.

THE.  Inform me, then! 
I must not speak without just grounds.

OED. O Theseus,
I am cruelly harassed with wrong heaped on wrong.

THE.  Mean’st thou that prime misfortune of thy birth?

OED. No.  That hath long been rumoured through the world.

THE.  What, then, can be thy grief?  If more than that,
’Tis more than human.

OED. Here is my distress:—­
I am made an outcast from my native land
By mine own offspring.  And return is barred
For ever to the man who slew his sire.