OEdip. She’s gone; and, as she went, methought her eyes
Grew larger, while a thousand frantic spirits,
Seething like rising bubbles on the brim,
Peeped from the watry brink, and glowed upon me. 
I’ll seek no more; but hush my genius up,
That throws me on my fate.—­Impossible! 
O wretched man, whose too too busy thoughts
Hide swifter than the gallopping heaven’s round,
With an eternal hurry of the soul. 
Nay, there’s a time when even the rolling year
Seems to stand still, dead calms are in the ocean,
When not a breath disturbs the drowzy waves: 
But man, the very monster of the world,
Is ne’er at rest; the soul for ever wakes. 
Come then, since destiny thus drives us on,
Let us know the bottom.—­Haemon, you I sent;
Where is that Phorbas?

Haem. Here, my royal lord.

OEdip. Speak first, AEgeon, say, is this the man?

AEge. My lord, it is; Though time has ploughed that face
With many furrows since I saw it first,
Yet I’m too well acquainted with the ground,
Quite to forget it.

OEdip. Peace; stand back a while.—­
Come hither, friend; I hear thy name is Phorbas. 
Why dost thou turn thy face?  I charge thee answer
To what I shall enquire:  Wert thou not once
The servant to king Laius here in Thebes?

Phor. I was, great sir, his true and faithful servant; Born and bred up in court, no foreign slave.

OEdip. What office hadst thou? what was thy employment?

Phor. He made me lord of all his rural pleasures; For much he loved them:  oft I entertained him With sporting swains, o’er whom I had command.

OEdip. Where was thy residence? to what part of the country Didst thou most frequently resort?

Phor. To mount Cithaeron, and the pleasant vallies Which all about lie shadowing its large feet.

OEdip. Come forth, AEgeon.—­Ha! why start’st thou, Phorbas? 
Forward, I say, and face to face confront him: 
Look wistly on him,—­through him, if thou canst! 
And tell me on thy life, say, dost thou know him? 
Didst thou e’er see him? e’er converse with him
Near mount Cithaeron?

Phor. Who, my lord, this man?

OEdip. This man, this old, this venerable man:  Speak, did’st thou ever meet him there?

Phor. Where, sacred sir?

OEdip. Near mount Cithaeron; answer to the purpose,
’Tis a king speaks; and royal minutes are
Of much more worth than thousand vulgar years: 
Did’st thou e’er see this man near mount Cithaeron?

Phor. Most sure, my lord, I have seen lines like those His visage bears; but know not where, nor when.

AEge. Is’t possible you should forget your ancient friend? 
There are, perhaps,
Particulars, which may excite your dead remembrance. 
Have you forgot I took an infant from you,
Doomed to be murdered in that gloomy vale? 
The swaddling-bands were purple, wrought with gold. 
Have you forgot, too, how you wept, and begged
That I should breed him up, and ask no more?