Page:Oedipus, King of Thebes (Murray 1911).djvu/39

vv. 378–402

Ha! Creon!—Is it his or thine, this plot?

’Tis thyself hates thee. Creon hates thee not.

O wealth and majesty, O skill all strife

Surpassing on the fevered roads of life,

What is your heart but bitterness, if now

For this poor crown Thebes bound upon my brow,

A gift, a thing I sought not—for this crown

Creon the stern and true, Creon mine own

Comrade, comes creeping in the dark to ban

And slay me; sending first this magic-man

And schemer, this false beggar-priest, whose eye

Is bright for gold and blind for prophecy.

Speak, thou. When hast thou ever shown thee strong

For aid? The She-Wolf of the woven song

Came, and thy art could find no word, no breath,

To save thy people from her riddling death.

’Twas scarce a secret, that, for common men

To unravel. There was need of Seer-craft then.

And thou hadst none to show. No fowl, no flame,

No God revealed it thee. ’Twas I that came,

Rude Oedipus, unlearned in wizard’s lore,

And read her secret, and she spoke no more.

Whom now thou thinkest to hunt out, and stand

Foremost in honour at King Creon’s hand.

I think ye will be sorry, thou and he

That shares thy sin-hunt. Thou dost look to me