Most strangely, far beyond the appointed day;
But when he comes, I should be base indeed,
Failing to do whate'er the God declares.
Priest. Well hast thou spoken! And these bring me word,
That Creon comes advancing on his way.
Œdip. Ο king Apollo, may he come with chance 80
That brings deliverance, as his looks are bright.
Priest. If one may guess, he's glad. He had not come
Crowned with rich wreaths[1] of fruitful laurel else.
Œdip. Soon we shall know. Our voice can reach him now.
Say, prince, our well-beloved, Menœkeus' son,
What sacred answer bring'st thou from the God?
Enter Creon.
Creon. A right good answer! E'en our evil plight,
If all goes well, may end in highest good.
Œdip. What were the words? Nor full of eager hope,
Nor trembling panic, list I to thy speech. 90
Creon. I, if thou wish, am ready, these being by,
To tell thee all, or go within the gates.
Œdip. Speak out to all. I sorrow more for them
Than for the woe which touches me alone.
Creon. I then will speak what from the God I heard:
King Phœbos bids us chase the plague away
(The words were plain) now cleaving to our land,
Nor cherish guilt which still remains unhealed.
Œdip. But with what rites? And what the deed itself?
Creon. Or drive far off, or blood for blood repay; 100
That guilt of blood is blasting all the state.
- ↑ Creon, coming from Delphi, wears a wreath of the Parnassian laurel, its red berries mingling with the dark, glossy leaves.
