Phoenissae, or Thebaïs: Act II

Messenger: Thee, sprung from regal stock to be our guide,In fear of civil strife our Thebes invokes,And prays that thou wouldst save thy father's houseFrom the flaming torch of war. No mere threats, these;For ever nearer does destruction come.One brother claims his share of royal power,His turn to rule according to the bond,And now is rousing all the tribes of GreeceTo bloody war. Against the walls of ThebesSeven camps have set them down. Haste to our aid,And war and crime prohibit equally.

Oedipus: Do I seem one to stay the hand of crime,And teach it to refrain from kindred blood?Should I teach righteousness and filial love?They take me as a model for their crimes,And follow me. I gladly recognizeAnd praise them as my sons; I urge them onTo do some outrage worthy of their sire.Then on, my worthy offspring; by your deedsApprove your noble birth; do ye surpassMy glory and my praises; do some deedBecause of which your father will rejoiceThat he has lived till now. And well I knowThat you will do it; for to such an endWere ye brought forth. Such noble birth as yoursCannot be satisfied with common crimeOr slight. Then forward with your impious arms!Attack your household gods with flaming brands;With torches gather in the ripened grainUpon your native fields; confuse all things,And hurry all to ruin absolute;O'erthrow the city's walls, yea, lay them low,E'en to the level of the plain; the godsAnd temples in one common fall o'erwhelm;Destroy our lares, now so foully stained,And let our whole house perish utterly;Let all the city be consumed with fire,And be my impious marriage chamber firstTo feel the flames.

Antigone: This raging storm of griefGive o'er; and let the sorrows of the statePrevail with thee to reconcile thy sons.

Oedipus: And dost thou think that thou dost see in meA mild old man given o'er to peaceful thoughts?And dost thou summon me unto thine aid,As one who loves to 'stablish peace? Not so:For even now my spirit swells with rage,My grief burns fiercely, and I long to seeSome greater deed than chance or youthful wrathWould dare attempt. I am not satisfiedWith civil war: let brother brother slay.Nor yet would this suffice. I wait to seeSome evil done that shall be like my own,That shall be worthy of my marriage bed.Give deadly weapons to my mother's hand--But do not seek to drag me from these woods.Here will I hide within the rocky caves,Or hedge myself about with thickets dense.Here will I catch at warlike rumor rifeAnd hear what news I may of brothers' strife.