Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/67

Rh Was Laius, my husband, slain—not so; My husband's father, by his rightful name! Shall I this weapon plunge into my breast, Or thrust it deep within my waiting neck? Nay, nay: thou know'st not how to choose a place. Strike here, O hand, through this capacious womb, Which (horrible!) the son and husband bore. [She slabs herself and falls dead.] Chorus: She lies in death, her failing hand relaxed; And spouting streams of blood drive out the sword. Oedipus: O fate-revealer, thee do I upbraid, Thou god and guardian of the oracles. My father only was I doomed to slay; But now, twice parricide and past my fears, Have I been guilty, and my mother slain. For 'tis by sin of mine that she is dead. O lying Phoebus, now have I outdone The impious fates. With apprehensive feet Let me go out upon my darkened way, Planting my footsteps with a faltering tread, And through the darkness grope with trembling hands. Stay not thy flight, speed thy uncertain steps— But hold! lest on thy mother's corse thou tread. Thebans, weak and smitten sore with ills, Whose hearts are fainting in your breats [sic], behold, I flee, I go: lift up your drooping heads. A milder sky and sweeter air shall come When I am gone. Whoever still retains His feeble life may now inhale the air In deep, life-giving draughts. Go, lend your aid To those who were to certain death resigned; For with me in my exile do I bear All pestilential humors of the land. Then come, ye blasting Fates and mad Despair, Thou deadly Pestilence, come, come with me; With such a company 'tis sweet to flee! [Exit.]