Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 16.djvu/204

182 But hence, begone, nor urge my temper further, Thou author of abominable falsehood.

Thou callest me hypocrite, and base impostor; Thy father thought not so.

Who? Polybus? My father, saidst thou?

Thou wilt know too soon Thy wretched fate: to-day shall give thee birth; To-day shall give thee death: unhappy man, Tell me who gave thee birth, or say with whom Thou livest, beset with sorrows and with crimes For thee alone reserved. O Corinth! Phocis! Detested nuptials! impious wretched race, Too like its parent stem! whose deadly rage Shall fill the world with horror and amaze. Farewell.

His last words fix me to the earth Immovable; my passion is subsided; I know not where I am: methinks some god Descended from above to calm my rage; Who to his priest imparted power divine, And by his sacred voice pronounced my ruin.