Must do it. What a naval camp is here A victim-thus the prophet Calchas speaks——— Illustrious Troy; and through the Grecian host Not Menelaus, my child, hath wrought my soul, Their nuptial beds to ruffian force a prey. Potter's Euripides. ELDER BRITISH DRAMA. Sir John Traffic, Luke, Risk, Penury, and Venture. Luke. HERE are Your humble suitors, sir, to wait upon you. Sir J. What would you have me do? [To Luke.] Give me a chair. [Luke gives a chair. Risk. Be pleased, sir, to consider my hard case. My land is mortgaged for a third of its value: To lose my proper right. Your deed speaks for it. Luke. Six hundred pounds. His bond, too, is grown forfeit. Sir J. Is it sued? Luke. Yes, sir; and execution out against him. Pen. I am undone! My wife and family Sir J. What's Venture's debt? Luke. Two thousand, sir. Sir J. Two thousand! an estate For a good man. You were the glorious trader, In every ship that launch'd forth. Tell me, sir, Ven. Insult me not On my calamity; though, being a debtor, Sir J. Storms and pirates! The cant of fraudulent insolvency! Look you, I must, and will, sir, have my money. Hold converse nor with these, nor me; for thou Edip. Hast thou no sense of shame, that thou hast dared Tir. I have escaped, e'en by the potent truth Edip. Tir. Edip. Tir. Edip. Tir. Which I maintain. By whom hast thou been taught? Not by thy art divine. By thee, constrain'd Unwillingly to speak. What? Speak the words Again; my knowledge so will be more clear. Not to speak it as a thing Thou art the much-sought murderer of the king. Edip. Thou shalt not triumph for this second taunt. Tir. More shall I speak, then, and enrage thee more? Edip. Say what thou wilt, it will be said in vain. Tir. I say, flagitious is thy intercourse With those most dear to thee; thou know'st not this, Nor seest the ills in which thou art involved. Edip. Think'st thou no vengeance such reproach awaits? I have no fear, if truth hath aught of power. Edip. It hath, but not for thee; it is not thine; Tir. Thy ears, thy soul, e'en as thine eyes, are blind. Tir. Unhappy thou, in thus reproaching me; For soon on thee the same reproach shall fall. Edip. Confiding in thy blindness, thou from me, Or any that have eyes, no vengeance fear'st. Tir. To fall by thee is not my fate; those things Belong to Phœbus; ample is his power. Edip. The fiction this of Creon, or thine own? Tir. Creon ne'er wrought thee ill: the work is thine. Edip. O greatness, empire, and thou noblest art That givest to life its glory, most desired, What baleful envy on your splendour waits, Since for this royal power by me unsought, But by the state presented a free gift, The faithful Creon, who the first appear'd My friend, with dark and secret malice works, Wishing my ruin, and suborns this wretch, This sorcerer, this artificer of wiles, on 6 H Where hast thou e'er display'd a prophet's skill? Why, when the ravening hound of hell her charm Mysterious chanted, for thy country wise >> Didst thou not solve it? Of no vulgar mind NA Was this the task; the prophet this required. No knowledge then from birds didst thou receive, None from the gods to unfold it; but I came, This nothing-knowing Edipus, and quell'd The monster, piercing through her dark device By reason's force, not taught by flight of birds. Yet dost thou now assay to drive me out, Weening to have thy stand by Creon's throne. But thou, and he who form'd this base design With thee, shall feel my power: but that thine age Some reverence claims, thou shouldst e'en now be And feel the madness of thine enterprise. [taught, Chor. If we conjecture right, his words burst forth By passion dictated; and thine, O king, Tir. No less: these things behove not; best advise With dreadful steps pursues thee, and ere long When thou shalt know that, driven by swelling gales, Of other ills thou seest not, which will rank And my true voice, yet thing more vile than thou Tir. Tir. Thy birth this day will show, This day will show the horrors of thy fate, Edip. How dark, how full of mystery all thy words! Tir. Such to unfold well suits thy piercing mind; (Edip. My glory thou wouldst turn to my reproach. Tir. That glory hath brought ruin on thy head. Edip. If I have saved this realm, I reck not that. Tir. Well then, I now depart. Boy, lead me hence. Edip. Ay, let him lead thee; for thy presence throws Confusion on the affairs that now engage Tir. Our care; begone, and trouble us no more. Whom thou hast sought, 'gainst whom thy solemn Thy threats have been proclaim'd, that man is here; Shall he appear; to her that gave him birth, A rival and a murderer. Go thou in; Muse on these things; say, if thou find them false, Potter's Sophocles. |