Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 16.djvu/187

Rh O speak to me, nor fear my jealous tears Should interrupt the new-born happiness Of thy late nuptials: think not that I came To cast reproaches on thee, or with sighs To win thy lost affection; vulgar arts, Unworthy of us both! the heart, Jocaste, That burned for thee, and if I may recall Thy plighted faith, was once not hateful to thee, Has learned, from thy example, not to feel Weakness like that.

I must approve thy conduct, And 'tis but fit I vindicate my own: I loved thee, Philoctetes; but my fate Tore me from thee, and gave me to another. Thou knowest what woes the horrid sphinx, by heaven Appointed to afflict us, brought on Thebes: Too well thou knowest that Œdipus

Is thine; I know it, and is worthy of the blessing: Young as he was, his wisdom saved thy country; His virtues, his fair deeds, and what still more Exalted him, Jocaste's love, have ranked Thy Œdipus among the first of men. Wherefore did cruel fortune, still resolved To punish Philoctetes, drive me hence, To seek vain trophies in a distant land? O! if the conqueror of the sphinx was doomed To conquer thee, why was not I at Thebes? I'd not have labored in the fruitless search Of idle mysteries, wrapped in words of darkness; This arm, to conquest long beneath thy smiles Accustomed, should have drawn the vengeful sword,