ŒDIPUS.
Reserve thy tears for something still more dreadful;
Now list and tremble: fearful of myself,
Lest I should e'er fulfil the dire prediction,
Or oppose heaven, I left my native land,
Broke from the arms of a distracted mother,
Wandered from place to place, disguised my birth,
My family, and name, by one kind friend
Attended; yet, in my disastrous journey,
The God who guided my sad footsteps oft
Strengthened my arm, and crowned me with success:
But happier had it been for Œdipus,
If he had fallen with glory in the field,
And by his death prevented all his woes:
I was reserved to be a parricide:
The hand of heaven, so long suspended o'er me,
Hath from my eyes at length removed the veil
Of Ignorance, and now I see it all:
I do remember, in the fields of Phocis
(Nor know I how I could so long forget
The great event) that in a narrow way
I met two warriors in a splendid car:
The path was strait, and we disputed it:
An idle contest for us both; but I
Was young and haughty, from my earliest years
Bred up to pride that flowed in with my blood;
An unknown stranger in a foreign land,
I thought myself upon my father's throne,
And whomso'er I chanced to meet, esteemed
As my own vassals, born but to obey me:
I rushed upon them, and with furious arm
Their rapid coursers stopped in full career;
Hurled from their chariot the intrepid pair,
Forward advanced in rage, and both attacked me:
