OEDIPUS AT COLONUS
Are not my teachers surer guides than thine—
Great Phoebus and the sire of Phoebus, Zeus?
Thou art a messenger suborned, thy tongue
Is sharper than a sword’s edge, yet thy speech
Will bring thee more defeats than victories.
Howbeit, I know I waste my words—begone,
And leave me here; whate’er may be my lot,
He lives not ill who lives withal content.
Creon
Which loses in this parley, I o’erthrown
By thee, or thou who overthrow’st thyself?
Oedipus
I shall be well contented if thy suit
Fails with these strangers, as it has with me.
Creon
Unhappy man, will years ne’er make thee wise?
Must thou live on to cast a slur on age?
Oedipus
Thou hast a glib tongue, but no honest man,
Methinks, can argue well on any side.
Creon
’Tis one thing to speak much, another well.
Oedipus
Thy words, forsooth, are few and all well aimed!
Creon
Not for a man indeed with wits like thine.
Oedipus
Depart! I bid thee in these burghers’ name,
And prowl no longer round me to blockade
My destined harbour.
