Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/194

96 Who with thy lips dost tell the goodly tale,

Of murders, incests, sad calamities,

Which I, poor wretch, against my will endured;

For thus it pleased the Gods, incensed, perhaps,

Against my father's house for guilt of old.

For, as regards my life, thou could'st not find

One spot of guilt, in recompense for which

I sinned these sins against myself and mine.

Tell me, I pray, if God-sent oracles

Declared his son's hand should my father slay,

How could'st thou justly heap reproach on me,

Who had no nurture at my father's hands,

Nor at my mother's, but, as one self-grown,

Rose then to manhood? Or, if once again,

Born, as I was, to misery and shame,

I with my father came to blows, and slew him,

Not knowing what I did, or unto whom;

How can'st thou rightly blame th' unconscious sin?

And thou, all shameless, blushest not to force

My lips to speak of marriage with my mother,

With her who was thy sister. I will speak

Of these things quickly, will not hold my peace,

Since thou hast ventured on such hateful speech.

She bore me; yes, she bore me—(woe is me!)

Unknowing, bearing me who knew her not;

And having borne, to me she issue gave,

Her shame and her reproach. But this I know,

That thou of thy free will speak'st foulest words

Against her name and mine, while I, against

My will espoused her, and against my will

Now speak these things. And yet my name shall bear

No evil brand by reason of that marriage,

Nor for my father's death that thou still harp'st on,

With bitter words of shame reproaching me.