Oedipus Tyrannus (1075-1130)

a storm of sorrow will soon break forth from this silence.

Break forth what will! Be my race ever so lowly, I crave to learn it. That woman perhaps—for she is proud with more than a woman’s pride—feels ashamed of my lowly origin. But I, who hold myself son of Fortune

that gives good, will not be dishonored. She is the mother from whom I spring, and the months, my kinsmen, have marked me sometimes lowly, sometimes great. Such being my heritage, never more can I prove

false to it, or keep from searching out the secret of my birth.

Elders, if it is right for me, who have never met the man, to guess, I think I see the herdsman we have been looking for for a lone time. In his venerable old age he tallies with this stranger’s years, and moreover I recognize those who bring him, I think, as servants of mine.

But perhaps you have an advantage in knowledge over me, if you have seen the herdsman before.

Yes, I know him, be sure. He was in the service of Laius—trusty as any shepherd.

I ask you first, Corinthian stranger, if this is the man you mean.

He is, the one you are looking at.

You, old man—look this way and answer all that I ask—were you once in the service of Laius?

I was—not a bought slave, but reared in his house.

Employed in what labor, or what way of life?

For the better part of my life I tended the flocks.

And what regions did you most frequently haunt?

Sometimes Cithaeron, sometimes the neighboring ground.

Are you aware of ever having seen this man in these parts?

Doing what? What man do you mean?

This man here. Have you ever met him before?