Oedipus Tyrannus (395-470)

and you were discovered not to have this art, either from birds, or known from some god. But rather I, Oedipus the ignorant, stopped her, having attained the answer through my wit alone, untaught by birds. It is I whom you are trying to oust, assuming that

you will have great influence in Creon’s court. But I think that you and the one who plotted these things will rue your zeal to purge the land: if you did not seem to be an old man, you would have learned to your cost how haughty you are.

To our way of thinking, these words, both his and yours, Oedipus,

have been said in anger. We have no need of this, but rather we must seek how we shall best discharge the mandates of the god.

Though you are king, the right of reply must be considered the same for both: over that I have control.

For I do not live as your slave, but as Loxias’. I will not stand enrolled as Creon’s client. And I tell you, since you have taunted my blindness, that though you have sight, you do not see what a state of misery you are in, or where you dwell, or with whom.

Do you know who your parents are? You have been an unwitting enemy to your own kin, both in the Underworld and on the earth above, and the double lash of your mother’s and your father’s curse will one day drive you from this land in dreadful haste, with darkness upon those eyes of yours which now can see.

What place will be harbor to your cries, what part of all Cithaeron will not ring with them soon, when you have learned the meaning of the nuptials in which, within that house, you found a fatal haven, after a voyage so fair? And you have not guessed at a throng of other ills

which will bring you level with your true self and with your own children. Therefore heap your scorn upon Creon and upon my message: for no man will ever be crushed more miserably than you.

Are these taunts to be endured from him?

Be gone, to your ruin; be gone this instant! Will you not turn your back and leave this house?

I would not have come if you had not called me.

I did not know you would speak foolishly, for otherwise it would have been a long time before I summoned you to my home.

I was born like this—as you think, a fool, but in the opinion of the parents who bore you, quite sane.

What parents? Wait. What man is my father?

This day will reveal your birth and bring your ruin.

What riddles, what dark words you always say.

Are you not the best at unravelling mysteries?

Reproach me in what you will find me to be great.

Yet it was just that fortune that undid you.

But if it saved this city I care not.

I will take my leave. You, boy, lead me.

Yes, let him take you: while here, you are a hindrance, a source of trouble. When you have gone, you will vex me no more.

I will go when I have performed the errand for which I came, fearless of your frown: you can never destroy me. I tell you: the man whom you have been seeking this long while,

uttering threats and proclaiming a search into the murder of Laius, is here, ostensibly an alien sojourner, but soon to be found a native of Thebes; nor will he enjoy his fortune. A blind man, though now he sees,

a beggar, though now rich, he will make his way to a foreign land, feeling the ground before him with his staff. And he will be discovered to be at once brother and father of the children with whom he consorts; son and husband of the woman who bore him;

heir to his father’s bed, shedder of his father’s blood. So go in and evaluate this, and if you find that I am wrong, say then that I have no wit in prophecy.