1 Pr. O father of thy country! 
To thee these knees are bent, these eyes are lifted,
As to a visible divinity;
A prince, on whom heaven safely might repose
The business of mankind; for Providence
Might on thy careful bosom sleep secure,
And leave her task to thee. 
But where’s the glory of thy former acts? 
Even that’s destroyed, when none shall live to speak it. 
Millions of subjects shalt thou have; but mute. 
A people of the dead; a crowded desert;
A midnight silence at the noon of day.

OEdip. O were our gods as ready with their pity,
As I with mine, this presence should be thronged
With all I left alive; and my sad eyes
Not search in vain for friends, whose promised sight
Flattered my toils of war.

1 Pr. Twice our deliverer!

OEdip. Nor are now your vows
Addrest to one who sleeps. 
When this unwelcome news first reached my ears,
Dymas was sent to Delphos, to enquire
The cause and cure of this contagious ill,
And is this day returned; but, since his message
Concerns the public, I refused to hear it
But in this general presence:  Let him speak.

Dym. A dreadful answer from the hallowed urn, And sacred tripos, did the priestess give, In these mysterious words.

The Oracle. Shed in a cursed hour, by cursed hand,
Blood-royal unrevenged has cursed the land. 
When Laius’ death is expiated well,
Your plague shall cease.  The rest let Laius tell.

OEdip. Dreadful indeed!  Blood, and a king’s blood too! 
And such a king’s, and by his subjects shed! 
(Else why this curse on Thebes?) No wonder then
If monsters, wars, and plagues, revenge such crimes! 
If heaven be just, its whole artillery,
All must be emptied on us:  Not one bolt
Shall err from Thebes; but more be called for, more;
New-moulded thunder of a larger size,
Driven by whole Jove.  What, touch anointed power! 
Then, Gods, beware; Jove would himself be next,
Could you but reach him too.

2 Pr. We mourn the sad remembrance.

OEdip. Well you may;
Worse than a plague infects you:  You’re devoted
To mother earth, and to the infernal powers;
Hell has a right in you.  I thank you, gods,
That I’m no Theban born:  How my blood curdles! 
As if this curse touched me, and touched me nearer
Than all this presence!—­Yes, ’tis a king’s blood,
And I, a king, am tied in deeper bonds
To expiate this blood.  But where, from whom,
Or how must I atone it?  Tell me, Thebans,
How Laius fell; for a confused report
Passed through my ears, when first I took the crown;
But full of hurry, like a morning dream,
It vanished in the business of the day.[4]

1 Pr. He went in private forth, but thinly followed, And ne’er returned to Thebes.

OEdip. Nor any from him? came there no attendant?  None to bring news?