Phor. Whate’er I begged, thou, like a dotard, speak’st
More than is requisite; and what of this? 
Why is it mentioned now?  And why, O why
Dost thou betray the secrets of thy friend?

AEge. Be not too rash.  That infant grew at last A king; and here the happy monarch stands.

Phor. Ha! whither would’st thou?  O what hast thou uttered!  For what thou hast said, death strike thee dumb for ever!

OEdip. Forbear to curse the innocent; and be Accurst thyself, thou shifting traitor, villain, Damned hypocrite, equivocating slave!

Phor. O heavens! wherein, my lord, have I offended?

OEdip. Why speak you not according to my charge?  Bring forth the rack:  since mildness cannot win you, Torments shall force.

Phor. Hold, hold, O dreadful sir!  You will not rack an innocent old man?

OEdip. Speak then.

Phor. Alas!  What would you have me say?

OEdip. Did this old man take from your arms an infant?

Phor. He did:  And, Oh!  I wish to all the gods, Phorbas had perished in that very moment.

OEdip. Moment!  Thou shalt be hours, days, years, a dying.—­ Here, bind his hands; he dallies with my fury:  But I shall find a way—­

Phor. My lord, I said I gave the infant to him.

OEdip. Was he thy own, or given thee by another?

Phor. He was not mine, but given me by another.

OEdip. Whence? and from whom? what city? of what house?

Phor. O, royal sir, I bow me to the ground; Would I could sink beneath it! by the gods, I do conjure you to inquire no more.

OEdip. Furies and hell!  Haemon, bring forth the rack, Fetch hither cords, and knives, and sulphurous flames:  He shall be bound and gashed, his skin flead off, And burnt alive.

Phor. O spare my age.

OEdip. Rise then, and speak.

Phor. Dread sir, I will.

OEdip. Who gave that infant to thee?

Phor. One of king Laius’ family.

OEdip. O, you immortal gods!—­But say, who was’t? 
Which of the family of Laius gave it? 
A servant, or one of the royal blood?

Phor. O wretched state!  I die, unless I speak; And if I speak, most certain death attends me!

OEdip. Thou shalt not die.  Speak, then, who was it? speak, While I have sense to understand the horror; For I grow cold.

Phor. The queen Jocasta told me, It was her son by Laius.

OEdip. O you gods!—­But did she give it thee?

Phor. My lord, she did.

OEdip. Wherefore? for what?—­O break not yet, my heart;
Though my eyes burst, no matter:—­wilt thou tell me,
Or must I ask for ever? for what end,
Why gave she thee her child?