Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/80

62 Grant that he wills it so, can add one jot Unto thy sum of trouble? Nor canst thou, Save that thou deem'st thyself unfit to live. But thou art not unfit, for in thy breast No taint of sin has come. And all the more, My father, art thou free from taint of sin, Because, though heaven willed it otherwise, Thou still art innocent. What is there now Which has so maddened thee, which goads thy heart To fresh outbursts of grief? What forces thee To seek the abodes of hell, and fly from these? Is't that thou wouldst avoid the light of day? Thou dost avoid the light. Or wouldst thou flee This noble palace and thy native land? Thy native land, although thou livest still, Is dead to thee. Wouldst from thy sons escape, And from thy mother? From the sight of all Has fate removed thee; and whatever death From any man can take, thy life has taken. Art weary of the kingdom's press and stir? At thy command thy former courtier throng Has vanished.—Whom, O father, dost thou flee? Oedipus: Myself I flee, I flee this heart of mine, Full of all crimes; I flee this hand, this sky, These gods; I flee those dreadful sins which I, Though innocent, have done. And can it be That this fair world, whence bounteous harvests spring, Is trod by such as I? This wholesome air Do I with pestilential lips inhale, With water quench my thirst, or any gift Of kindly earth enjoy? And do I dare, This impious, incestuous, cursed wretch, To touch thy maiden hand? Have I still ears To hear the name of parent or of son? Oh, that with rending hands I might destroy These narrow ways of sound by which I hear The words of men. My child, all sense of thee, Who art a parcel of my impious deeds, In my unhappiness I would have fled.