Oedipus
O shameless railer, think’st thou this abuse
Defames my grey hairs rather than thine own? 
Murder and incest, deeds of horror, all
Thou blurtest forth against me, all I have borne,
No willing sinner; so it pleased the gods
Wrath haply with my sinful race of old,
Since thou could’st find no sin in me myself
For which in retribution I was doomed
To trespass thus against myself and mine. 
Answer me now, if by some oracle
My sire was destined to a bloody end
By a son’s hand, can this reflect on me,
Me then unborn, begotten by no sire,
Conceived in no mother’s womb?  And if
When born to misery, as born I was,
I met my sire, not knowing whom I met
or what I did, and slew him, how canst thou
With justice blame the all-unconscious hand? 
And for my mother, wretch, art not ashamed,
Seeing she was thy sister, to extort
From me the story of her marriage, such
A marriage as I straightway will proclaim. 
For I will speak; thy lewd and impious speech
Has broken all the bonds of reticence. 
She was, ah woe is me! she was my mother;
I knew it not, nor she; and she my mother
Bare children to the son whom she had borne,
A birth of shame.  But this at least I know
Wittingly thou aspersest her and me;
But I unwitting wed, unwilling speak. 
Nay neither in this marriage or this deed
Which thou art ever casting in my teeth—­
A murdered sire—­shall I be held to blame. 
Come, answer me one question, if thou canst: 
If one should presently attempt thy life,
Would’st thou, O man of justice, first inquire
If the assassin was perchance thy sire,
Or turn upon him?  As thou lov’st thy life,
On thy aggressor thou would’st turn, no stay
Debating, if the law would bear thee out. 
Such was my case, and such the pass whereto
The gods reduced me; and methinks my sire,
Could he come back to life, would not dissent. 
Yet thou, for just thou art not, but a man
Who sticks at nothing, if it serve his plea,
Reproachest me with this before these men. 
It serves thy turn to laud great Theseus’ name,
And Athens as a wisely governed State;
Yet in thy flatteries one thing is to seek: 
If any land knows how to pay the gods
Their proper rites, ’tis Athens most of all. 
This is the land whence thou wast fain to steal
Their aged suppliant and hast carried off
My daughters.  Therefore to yon goddesses,
I turn, adjure them and invoke their aid
To champion my cause, that thou mayest learn
What is the breed of men who guard this State.

Chorus
An honest man, my liege, one sore bestead
By fortune, and so worthy our support.

Theseus
Enough of words; the captors speed amain,
While we the victims stand debating here.

Creon
What would’st thou?  What can I, a feeble man?