Page:Oedipus, King of Thebes (Murray 1911).djvu/55

vv. 665–680 But it bleedeth, it bleedeth sore,

In a land half slain,

If we join to the griefs of yore

Griefs of you twain.

Oh, let him go, though it be utterly

My death, or flight from Thebes in beggary.

’Tis thy sad lips, not his, that make me know

Pity. Him I shall hate, where’er he go.

I see thy mercy moving full of hate

And slow; thy wrath came swift and desperate.

Methinks, of all the pain that such a heart

Spreadeth, itself doth bear the bitterest part.

Oh, leave me and begone!

I go, wronged sore

By thee. These friends will trust me as before.

[ goes. stands apart lost in trouble of mind.

Rh

Queen, wilt thou lead him to his house again?

I will, when I have heard.