And since I find that my advice avails not,
To thee, Lykeian King, Apollo, first
I come,—for thou art nearest,—suppliant 920
With these devotions, trusting thou wilt work
Some way of healing for us, free from guilt;
For now we shudder, all of us, seeing him,
The good ship's pilot, stricken down with fear.
Enter Messenger.
Mess. May I inquire of you, Ο strangers, where
To find the house of Œdipus the king,
And, above all, where he is, if ye know?
Chorus. This is the house, and he, good sir, within,
And here stands she, the mother of his children.
Mess. Good fortune be with her and all her kin,
Being, as she is, his true and honoured wife. 930
Joc. Like fortune be with thee, my friend. Thy speech,
So kind, deserves no less. But tell me why
Thou comest, what thou hast to ask or tell.
Mess. Good news to thee, and to thy husband, lady.
Joc. What is it, then? and who has sent thee here?
Mess. I come from Corinth, and the news I'll tell
May give thee joy. How else? Yet thou may'st grieve.
Joc. What is the news that has this twofold power?
Mess. The citizens that on the Isthmus dwell
Will make him sovereign. So the rumour ran. 940
Joc. What! Does old Polybos hold his own no more?
Mess. Nay, nay. Death holds him in his sepulchre.
Joc. What say'st thou? Polybos, thy king, is dead?
Mess. If I speak false, I bid you take my life.
Joc. Go, maiden, at thy topmost speed, and tell
Thy master this. Now, oracles of Gods,
Where are ye now? Long since my Œdipus
