Oedipus.
Nay, thou must hear, and Corinth. Long ago
Apollo spake a doom, that I should know
My mother’s flesh, and with mine own hand spill
My father’s blood.—’Tis that, and not my will,
Hath kept me always far from Corinth. So;
Life hath dealt kindly with me, yet men know
On earth no comfort like a mother’s face.
Stranger.
’Tis that, hath kept thee exiled in this place?
Oedipus.
That, and the fear too of my father’s blood.
Stranger.
Then, surely, Lord . . . I came but for thy good . . .
’Twere well if from that fear I set thee free.
Oedipus.
Ah, couldst thou! There were rich reward for thee.
Stranger.
To say truth, I had hoped to lead thee home
Now, and myself to get some good therefrom.
Oedipus.
Nay; where my parents are I will not go.
Stranger.
My son, ’tis clear enough thou dost not know
Thine own road.
Oedipus.
How? Old man, in God’s name, say.
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