Tir. ’Tis lost, Like what we think can never shun remembrance; Yet of a sudden’s gone beyond the clouds.

OEdip. Fetch it from thence; I’ll have’t, wheree’er it be.

Cre. Let me entreat you, sacred sir, be calm,
And Creon shall point out the great offender. 
’Tis true, respect of nature might enjoin
Me silence, at another time; but, oh,
Much more the power of my eternal love! 
That, that should strike me dumb; yet Thebes, my country—­
I’ll break through all, to succour thee, poor city! 
O, I must speak.

OEdip. Speak then, if aught thou knowest, As much thou seem’st to know,—­delay no longer.

Cre. O beauty!  O illustrious, royal maid! 
To whom my vows were ever paid, till now;
And with such modest, chaste, and pure affection,
The coldest nymph might read’em without blushing;
Art thou the murdress, then, of wretched Laius? 
And I, must I accuse thee!  O my tears! 
Why will you fall in so abhorred a cause? 
But that thy beauteous, barbarous hand destroyed
Thy father, (O monstrous act!) both gods
And men at once take notice.

OEdip. Eurydice!

Eur. Traitor, go on; I scorn thy little malice;
And knowing more my perfect innocence,
Than gods and men, then how much more than thee,
Who art their opposite, and formed a liar,
I thus disdain thee!  Thou once didst talk of love;
Because I hate thy love,
Thou dost accuse me.

Adr. Villain, inglorious villain,
And traitor, doubly damned, who durst blaspheme
The spotless virtue of the brightest beauty;
Thou diest:  Nor shall the sacred majesty, [Draws and wounds him.
That guards this place, preserve thee from my rage.

OEdip. Disarm them both!—­Prince, I shall make you know, That, I can tame you twice.  Guards, seize him.

Adr. Sir,
I must acknowledge, in another cause
Repentance might abash me; but I glory
In this, and smile to see the traitor’s blood.

OEdip. Creon, you shall be satisfied at full.

Cre. My hurt is nothing, sir; but I appeal
To wise Tiresias, if my accusation
Be not most true.  The first of Laius’ blood
Gave him his death.  Is there a prince before her? 
Then she is faultless, and I ask her pardon. 
And may this blood ne’er cease to drop, O Thebes,
If pity of thy sufferings did not move me,
To shew the cure which heaven itself prescribed.

Eur. Yes, Thebans, I will die to save your lives. 
More willingly than you can wish my fate;
But let this good, this wise, this holy man,
Pronounce my sentence:  For to fall by him,
By the vile breath of that prodigious villain,
Would sink my soul, though I should die a martyr.

Adr. Unhand me, slaves.—­O mightiest of kings,
See at your feet a prince not used to kneel;
Touch not Eurydice, by all the gods,
As you would save your Thebes, but take my life: 
For should she perish, heaven would heap plagues on plagues,
Rain sulphur down, hurl kindled bolts
Upon your guilty heads.