Oedipus.
’Tis Apollo; all is Apollo, [Strophe.
O ye that love me, ’tis he long time hath planned
These things upon me evilly, evilly,
Dark things and full of blood.
I knew not; I did but follow
His way; but mine the hand
And mine the anguish. What were mine eyes to me
When naught to be seen was good?
Leader.
’Tis even so; and Truth doth speak in thee.
Oedipus.
To see, to endure, to hear words kindly spoken,
Should I have joy in such?
Out, if ye love your breath,
Cast me swift unto solitude, unbroken
By word or touch.
Am I not charged with death,
Most charged and filled to the brim
With curses? And what man saith
God hath so hated him?
Leader.
Thy bitter will, thy hard calamity,
Would I had never known nor looked on thee!
Oedipus.
My curse, my curse upon him, [Antistrophe.
That man whom pity held in the wilderness,
Who saved the feet alive from the blood-fetter
And loosed the barb thereof!
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