Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Jebb 1917).djvu/81

216—244] . Woe is me!—What will become of me, my child?

. Speak,—for thou art driven to the verge.

. Then speak I will—I have no way to hide it.

. Ye twain make a long delay—come, haste thee!

. Know ye a son of Laïus…O!…(The utter a cry)…and the race of the Labdacidae?…(. O Zeus!)…the hapless Oedipus?…

. art he?

. Have no fear of any words that I speak—

(The drown his voice with a great shout of execration, half turning away, and holding their mantles before their eyes.)

. Unhappy that I am!…(The clamour of the continues)…Daughter, what is about to befall?

. Out with you! forth from the land!

. And thy promise—to what fulfilment wilt thou bring it?

. No man is visited by fate if he requites deeds which were first done to himself; deceit on the one part matches deceits on the other, and gives pain, instead of benefit, for reward. And thou—back with thee! out from these seats! avaunt! away from my land with all speed, lest thou fasten some heavier burden on my city!

. Strangers of reverent soul, since ye have not borne with mine aged father,—knowing, as ye do, the rumour of his unpurposed deeds,—pity, at least, my hapless self, I implore you, who supplicate you for my sire alone,—supplicate you with eyes that can still look