Oedipus

THE LAMENTABLE TRAgedie of OEDIPVs the ſonne of LAIVs Kyng of THEBEs out of Seneca. By ALEXANDER Neuyle.

Imprynted at London in ſaint Brydes Churchyarde: ouer agaynſt the North doore of the Churche: by Thomas ColWell. 1563. 28. Aprilis.

To the ryght Honorable Maiſter Doctor Wotton: One of the Quenes Maieſties priuye Counſayle. Alexander Neuyle wyſheth Health: with encreaſe of Honor.

WHen firſt right honorable Syr, I trauayled in the tranſlation of this preſent Tragedie, Written by the moſte graue, vertutuous & Chriſtian Ethenicke (for ſo doubteth not Eraſmus to terme him) Lucius Anneus Seneca: I minded nothynge leſſe, than that at any tyme thus rudely tranſformed he ſhoulde come into the Prynters hands. For I to no other ende remoued hym from his naturall and loftye ſtyle to our corrupt & baſe, or as al men affyrme it: moſt barbarous Language: but onely to ſatiſfye the inſtant requeſtes of a fewe my familiar frendes, who thought to haue put it to the very ſame vſe, that Seneca hymſelf in his Inuention pretended: Whiche was by the tragicall and pompous ſhowe vpon ſtage, to admoniſh all men of theyr fickle Eſtates, To declare the vnconſtant Head of wauering Fortune, her ſodaine interchaūged and ſoone altered face, And lyuely to expreſſe the iuſt reuenge, & fearful puniſhmēts of horrible Crimes, wherwith the wretched worlde in theſe our myſerable daies pyteouſly ſwarmeth. This cauſed me not to be to preciſe in folowynge the Author worde for worde: but ſomtymes by Addition, ſomtymes by ſubtraction, to vſe the apteſt Phraſes in giuing y^e ſenſe that I coulde inuent. Wherat a great nombre I knowe wyll be more offended than Reaſon or Wiſdom wold they ſhould be. Thus as I framed it to one purpoſe: ſo haue my frendes (to whom I can not well deny any thyng y^e Frendſhyps ryght may ſeeme iuſtly to requyre) wreſted it to another effect: and by this meanes blowen it abroade, by ouer raſſhe & vnaduiſed pryntyng. By whiche fonde dede I know vndoubtedly I ſhal receiue y^e poiſoned Infamies, of a nombre of venemous tonges. Wherfore (ryght honorable ſyr:) as I giue theſe the firſt Fruictes of my trauayle vnto you: declarynge therin the great good wyll & dutie that I owe vnto your Honor, for the vertuous Liberalitie of your noble mynde: ſo am I driuen humbly to renqyre your ſtrong ayde, & aſſured Defence againſt the ſclaunderous aſſaults of ſuch malicious mouths, whiche obtaynd: I ſhalbe the better encouraged agaynſt an other time, to beſtow my trauaile in matters of farre greater weyght and importaunce. In the meane ſeaſon (deſyryng your Honour to take theſe ſymple Attemptes of myne in good parte:) I leaue you to the tuicion of the ryght hyghe & mightye GOD: Who kepe you longe in health, & graunt you NESTORS yeares: With encreaſe of Honor.

Your Honours to cōmaund. Alexander Neuyle.

The Preface to the Reader.

BEholde here before thy face (good Reader) the ryght lamentable Tragedie of that moſt Infortunate Prynce OEDIPVS, for thy profit rudely tranſlated. Wondre not at the groſenes of the ſtyle: neither yet accownt the Inuentours dylygence diſgraced by the Tranſlators negligence: Who thoughe that he hath ſomtymes boldly preſumed to erre frō his Author, rouynge at Randon where he lyſt: adding and ſubtracting at pleaſure: Yet let not that engendre diſdainful ſuſpicion with in thy learned breſt. Marke thou rather what is ment by the whole courſe of the Hiſtorie: and frame thy lyfe free from ſuche miſchiefs, wherwith the worlde at this preſent is vniuerſally ouerwhelmed, The wrathfull vengeaunce of God prouoked, The Bodye plaged, the mynde and Conſcience in midſt of deepe deuourynge daungers moſt terrybly aſſaulted, In ſuche ſort that I abhorre to write: And euen at the thought therof I tremble and quake for very inward griefe and feare of minde, aſſuredly perſwadinge my ſelfe that the ryght hyghe and immortall God, wyll neuer leaue ſuche horrible and deteſtable Crimes vnpunyſhed. As in this preſent Tragedie, and ſo forth vniuerſally in the generall Proces of the whole Hiſtorie, thou mayſte ryght well perceyue. Wherin thou ſhalt ſe, a very expres and lyuely Image of the incōſtant chaunge of fickle Fortune in the perſon of a Prince of paſſyng fame and Renowne, midſt whole ſtuds of earthly blyſſe: by meare miſfortune, nay rather by the deepe hidden ſecret Iudgements of God pyteouſlye plunged in moſt extreame myſeries. The whole Realme for his ſake in ſtraungeſt guyſe greuouſlye plaged: beſydes the apparaunt deſtruction of the Nobilitie, The generall death and ſpoyle of the Cominaltie, The myſerable tranſformed face of the Citie, with an infynyte Legion of miſchiefes moore, whiche I paſſe ouer vnreherſed. Onely wyſh I all men by this Tragicall Hiſtorie (for to that entent was it written) to beware of ſynne: the ende wherof is ſhamefull and myſerable. As in the moſt Infortunate fall of this vnhappy Prince right playnely appeareth. Who by inwarde Gripe of fearefull conſuming Concience wretchedly tormented: beholdynge the lamentable ſtate of his vyle infected Realmes, waſted by the burnyng rage of priuy ſpoylynge Peſtilence, fyndes hym ſelfe in tract of Time, to be the onelye Plage and myſerye of the almoſt quight deſtroyed Citie. Wherupon callynge togither his Preeſts and Prophettes, and aſkyng counſayle of the Gods by them, for preſent Remedy in thoſe Euils, wherwith the Realme was than vniuerſally ouerflowen, Aunſwere was made that the Plague ſhuld neuer ceas, tyll Kynge LAIVS Death were throughly reuenged: and the bluddy Murtherer driuen into perpetuall exyle. Whiche Aunſwere receyued OEDIPVS farre more curious in bowlting out the trueth, than carefull of his own Eſtate: ſodaynly ſlides into an innumerable cōpany of ryght dredfull myſeries For as ſoone as he had once the perfect vewe of his own deteſtable dedes and wicked miſdemeanour caſt before his eies, togither w^t the vnnaturall kyllynge of his Father LAIVS, the inceſtuous Mariage of his Mother IOCASTA. The prepoſterous ordre of his yll myſguyded lyfe, with a hūdred mo like miſchiefs, which chaſt & vndefyled eares abhorre to heare, frettyng Fury cōmon enmy & tormentor to corrupted conſcience prickyng him forward, all inflamed w^t Phrenſie and boylyng in inwarde heate of vyle infected mynde, he rooteth out his wretched eies vnnaturally, ſpoyleth his Mother of her lyfe (though earneſtly requeſted therto) beaſtly, and in the ende in moſt baſeſt kynde of ſlauerye, baniſht: dieth myſerably. Leauing behynd hym vnto all poſterities A dredful Example of Gods horryble vengeaunce for ſin. ſuch like Terrors as theſe requyreth this our preſent Age, wherin Uice hath chyefeſt place, and Uertue put to hyght: lyes as an abiect languiſhynge in great extremytie. For the whiche cauſe, ſo muche the rather haue I ſuffred this my baſe trāſlated Tragedie to be publyſhed: from his Author in worde and Uerſe far tranſformed, though in ſenſe lytell altred: and yet oftentymes rudely encreaſed with myne owne ſymple Inuētion more raſhly I cōfes than wyſely, wyſhynge to pleaſe all: to offende none: But wheras no mā lyues ſo vpryghtly, whom ſlaundring toonges leaue vndyffamed: I referre my ſelf to the Iudgement of y^e wyſeſt, lytle eſteaming the preiudiciall mouthes of ſuche carping Marchauntes, whiche ſuffre no mennes doynges almoſte to ſcape vndefyled. In fyne I beſeche all togyther (yf ſo it myght be) to beare with my rudenes, and conſydre the groſenes of oure owne Coūtrey language, whiche can by no means aſpire to the hyghe lofty Latiniſts ſtile. Myne onely entent was to exhorte men to embrace Uertue and ſhun Uice, Accordynge to that of the ryght famous and excellent Poet Virgyl.

Diſcite iuſticiam moniti & non temnere diuos.

This obtayned: I holde my ſelfe throughlye contented: In the meane ſeaſon I ende: wyſhyng all men to flie ſin: the preſent Path waye to perfect Infelycitie.

Farewell.

The names of the ſpeakers of this Tragedie.

Oedipus.

Chorus.

Tireſias.

Senex.

Iocaſta.

Creon.

Manto

Phorbas.

(Nuntius.)

The fyrſte Acte.

Oedipus. Iocaſta.

Oedipus.

THe night is gon. & dredful day begins at length to appeare
And Lucifer beſet w^t Clowds, hymſelf aloft doth reare.
And gliding forth with heauy hewe, A dolful blaſe doth beare (in ſkyes.)
Now ſhal the houſes voide be ſene, with Plagues deuoured quight:
And ſlaughter y^t the night hath made, ſhall daye brynge forth to lyght.
Doth any man in Princely throne reioyce? O bryttle Ioye
How many ills? how faire a face? and yet how muche annoye
In the doth lurke, and hidden lies? what heapes of endles ſtryfe?
They iudge amys, y^t deame y^e Prince to haue the happy lyfe.
For as the mountayns houge and hie, the bluſtryng windes withſtand,
And craggy Rocks, the belching fluds do daſh and beate fro land.
Though that the ſeas in quiet are and nought at all do fome:
ſo kingdoms great ſubmytted lye, to Fortunes doulfull Dome.
How well ſhund I my father deare Polybus ſcepters late?
Exilde. bereft of carfull feare, in Pilgrims happy ſtate.
I call the Gods to witnes heare and ſtars that glyde in ſkies.
A kingdom is befauln to me, I feare leſt hereof riſe
A miſchiefe, (mighty Ioue,) to great I feare alas I feare
Leſt theſe my handes haue ſpoyld the lyfe, of the my father deare.
Appollo byds me this beware, and yet a miſchiefe more,
Foretelles. Can eny greater be then this I told before?
Of father ſlayn by ſonnes owne hand? My ſhyuering lyms do ſhake
And all amaſed quaking ſtand at this vnhappie Fate.
I am aſſhamed my deſtnies fowle, at large to thunder out,
And openly to blaſe my feare. my dredfull minde doth doubt.
Yet out it goes. Phebus me bids my mothers beds to fly.
As though that I hyr ſonne w^t hyr, inceſtuouſlie ſhuld ly,
This feare and only this my dryues from fathers kingdoms great.
Not lyke a wanderyng Uacabounde the wayes vnknowen I beate,
But all myſtruſtfull of my ſelfe thy lawes (O Nature) for to keape
I ſought the meanes. Yet feare I ſtil and fear into my mynde doth creape
Though cauſe of Dread not one I ſe yet feare and dread I all.
And ſcante in credit with my ſelf, I ſeke my fatal fall
(By Dome of doulful Deſtinies.)

For what ſhuld I ſuppoſe the cauſe? A Plage that is ſo generall

And Cadmus countrie wholy ſpoiles and ſpreds it ſelf thorough all?
Shuld vs amongeſt ſo houge a heap of plaged Bodyes ſpare?
And we alone amongſt the reſt reſerued to myſchiefes are?
O heuy hap. And byde we ſtill alone the ſpoyle to ſee?
Of Cites great, of men, of beaſts, by plage that waſted be?
And thou amongſt ſo many yls, a happy lyfe to lead,
Couldſte once perſwade thy ſelfe (O wretch without al fear or dread.
Of Phebus ſecret Iudgements to, and that in kynges eſtate,
Thou, thou, infected haſt the ayre, in ſuche a fylthye rate.
Thou art the onely cauſe of woe: by the theſe euils ryſe,
By the to graue on ſuche a ſorte, this wretched people plies.
The fyry flaming frieng heate, afflicted harts that waſtes,
Is not relyued as wont it was by cold and pleaſaunt blaſtes.
The gentle weſterne windes haue left with helthful puffes to blow,
And now the fyery Dog with blaſe of boylynge heate doth glow.
The ſonne in Leo burns ſo hote, and ſo the earth doth broyle,
That fluds and herbes are dried vp, and nought remaynes but ſoyle,
ſo throughly ſchorcht and ſtued with heate, that moiſture all is gon,
And now amongſt ſo may fluds, remaynes alas not one.
The places drye are only ſene the ſtreames are dronken vp.
And water that doth yet abyde, the ſokyng Earth doth ſup.
The Moone with clowds quight ouer caſt, all ſadly forth ſhe glides,
And dolfull darkſom ſhades of night, the whole worlde ouerhides.
No ſtar on hygh at all doth ſhyne but all the ſkies are couered,
With blacke and hellyke hewe & miſtie ſtenche, quight ouerſhadowed.
The corne that wonted was to growe and frutefully to ſpring:
Nowe to the voided Barnes nought els but emptie ſtalkes doth bring.
No part of all our kingdome is, fre from Deſtruction:
But all together ronne and ruſh, to vtter confuſion.
The olde men with the yong (alas:) the father with the childe
The plage conſumes. both man & wife all beaſtes both tame and wylde
Are ſpoyled by the Peſtylence. No pompe at all remaynes,
That wonted was in Funeralles, to eaſe the mourners paynes.
Alas this ſpoile of people made, by Plage hath dryed myn eyes.
And ſecretly within my breſt, the grief it boyling fryes.
And that that wonted is to hap, in moſt extremeſt ylls.
My teares are dry and glutting grief my wretched breſt it fills.
The craſed father bears the ſonns, vnto theyr dampiſh graues.
And after him with burden lyke, the mother comes and raues.
And euen lamentyng as they ſtand ſtarcke ded downe both they fall,
And mourners new in like eſtate, for them and theirs they call.
Who likwyſe in the mydſt of all, their toyle and paynfull payne
Do drop into the graue they digd, and ſo the place do gayn
(That was prepared for others erſt.)

A tombe is made for Noble men faſt on the people hyes

And in their burdēs fling. Nobility all vnregarded lyes.
For lacke of graues theyr bodyes all to aſhes they do waſt.
And ſo half burnt they leue thē ther. and home away for haſt
They run. & more they fetche. & thē fier, wood, graue, and all
Doth want. And down for very griefe the wretched miſers fall.
No prayers auail. No Arte can help this raging Plage tappeaſe:
For none almoſt is left alyue eche others grief to eaſe.
Before thine aulters here O God my feble hands I hould,
Requiring all my deſtinies, at once with corage bold.
And that by death I may preuent, my Country preſt to fall.
For this: and only this (O God) Upon thy name I call.
Let me not be the laſt that dies. The laſt that goes to Graue.
Graūt this. & then (O mighty loue) My full requeſt I haue.
O cruell Gods vnkynd. O more than thriſe vnhappy fates.
That only me denied is, that lightes on all eſtates.
I meane a ſpedy death alas, theſe euyls to preuent:
Leaue of thy blubberyng teares & flye theſe kingdoms foyld O foole
With rotten plages and botches vyle and graues eche where dyſpoilde.
All whiche diſeaſes thou vnhappie geſte didſte bringe with the.
Diſpatche. away. Go hence. at leaſt, vnto thy parents ſtie.

Iocaſta. What boots it ſir theſe miſchiefes (greate) with piteous plaints to aggreuate.
Stowtlie to beare aduerſitie, is fitſte for kynges eſtate.
The more thy Reygne is douted of, and when that cares do cruſh
Thy princelie breſt. thē ought y^e moſt to beare and bide the puſh.
It is no point of courage ſtout, to fortune for to yeld.

Oedipus Nay from this breſt reprocheful feare hath euer been exilde.
Our manhode is not ſubiecte now, to vaine and peuiſh feares,
But euermore in eche aſſaulte, it princelie courage beares.
No not a thouſand gliſtering ſwordes nor all the force of war,
Can once appale my countenaunce nor yet my mynde detarre,
The verie giauntes fyeres and houge in fight withſtand I dare.
Not ſphinx his crafty compaſt words coulde make me once to yeld.
I ſaw him belching gubbes of blud I vewde full well the fielde
That all to ſpatterd laye. With blud and bones quight ouerhelde,
And when y^t he on moūtaynes top with mouth full houge to ſe.
Stode gapinge all with gredie Iawes to feede and praye on me,
Ofte fluttering w^t his fearful wynges and ſhakyng oft his tayle,
Began full like a Lion fierce with threates me to aſſaile.
Of whom ſtraight way the Riddell I. it ruſht into myne eares
With roring ſownde. his wynges he claps the Rock for haſt he teares.
Deſiring with my bowelles ſtill to glutte his gredy Iawes.
But this myne old practiſed hed his ſubtile queſtion drawes,
In peces at the length diſſolued. And it aſundre ſawes.

Iocaſta. What maks you wiſh for deth to late? you myght haue died than.
As for rewarde of ſphinx deſtroyed this kingdom to you came.
(You nede no more therof to talk)

Oedipus. The aſhes of that Monſter vile, agaynſt vs doth rebell.
That vyle miſhapen lothſom Beaſt, that ragyng Feend of Hell.
Is cauſe of all the plage that now, on Thebane Citie lights.
Now only this remaynes alone, if Phebùs heauenly might,
Can eny meanes inuent for vs, or way of mercye make:
Wherby theſe burnyng Plagues at length may haply chaūce to ſlake,
(that thus our people waſts.)

Chorus.

O More then thriſe renowmed ſtock of aunciēt Cadmus race.
O mighty Thebes Citie great, (O heuy ruthfull Caſe.)
Loe now you lye all deſolate, with Plagues deuoured quight.
Both you and all your Huſbandmen. (Oh miſerable ſyght.)
O fowle and fearfull fates (alas) what cauſeth all this wo?
O God whence ſprings this Peſtylence? that vs tormenteth ſo?
No age, no ſhape, no forme is ſparde. but all confounded lye.
Thus happieſt now y^t man I cownte, whoſe chaunce was firſt to dye
For he hath ſhund a thouſand yls, whiche wretched eyes haue ſeen:
And miſchiefes great that vs do preſe from him are taken clean.
O God withhold thy furye great, thy Plages from vs remoue.
Ceas of afflicted ſoules to ſcourge, who the both ſerue and loue.
Powre downe on thē diſeaſes fowle, that them deſerued haue.
A Guerdon iuſt for ſynne (Oh god) thys this of the we craue,
And only this. we aſke no more the cauſe and all is thyne,
A thing not vſed of gods it is from pitie to declyne.
My hart doth pant and trembling cold through all my lims doth run
As oft as I remembring cownt the noble ſtockes vndun,
By death and dolfull deſtenies that ouerwhelmed lye,
And yet alas the people ſtill to graue do faſter hye.
In longe Araye all in a rancke by thouſandes on a Rowe,
On euerye ſide in euery ſtreate to buriall faſt they goe.
An hundred brode wide open gates, are not enoughe for waye,
But throngd the people peſtred ſtand ſtil in a fearfull ſtaye,
And in the mydſt of al their toyle with corſes on their backes,
The number that before doth pooſt the hinder number ſlackes.
The corſes in the ſtreates do lye and graue on graue is made,
But all in vayne. for nought it boots the plage cannot be ſtayed.
The ſacrefices donne to Godes haue to to yll ſucces,
And ſuche ſtrainge ſights & ſignes do riſe that nought els I can ges
But that at hande w^t gaſtlye pawes, is vtter deſtruction,
With thowſande ylls accompayned and extreme confuſion.
The ſhepe of rot by heaps as thicke as dogges do fall and dye,
And belching owt their waſted lungs on grounde do ſprawlyng lye.
And I my ſelfe of late did ſee: (a ſight vnſeen before,)
As our highe preſte ſtode ſacreficinge at the Temple dore,
And ſtrake w^t greuous bludy wound the golden horned Bull
When down w^t liueles lump he drops and members made full dull.
And all y^e wounde wide bleding gapes and blacke goord blud out ſpues.
And yet the blade vnſprinckled was. The bloud it boylinge ſtues
And bubbles on the ground. Alas What do theſe thyngs portend?
Oh mghty Ioue at length I pray, ſome good and happy ende.
At length withhold thy hand (O God) and health vnto vs ſende.
Nothyng alas remaynes at all, in wonted old eſtate,
But all are turned topſey downe, quight voide aud deſolate.
The tyred Horſe with labour long, from back his burthen tats,
And after on his Mayſters breſt, his lyueles lyms he ſquats.
And all his partes in peces cruſh. The Beaſts in field that byde
Unkept. Unknowen wayes & paths do raunge and ouerſtride.
The Bull for lacke of foode and meat in field all faintyng lyes,
And all his flock diſperſed quight, the ſely ſhephard dyes.
And there amongſt the Heifers fierce his fatall breath expyers,
The Harts w^tout all feare of Wolues do lyue in wretched peace,
The very wrathfull roryng ſownds, of rampyng Lyons ceaſe.
The vengeaunce wylde outrageous Beares are now as tame as ſhepe
The vgly ſerpent that was wont, the Rocky Dennes to kepe.
Oft quaſſyng poiſoned Uenom ſoups in inwarde heate ſhe boyles.
And all inflamd and ſchorcht: in vaine for lenger lyfe ſhe toyles.
The woods are not adourned nowe, with freſh and lyuely hue,
The wonted ſhades are gon. Al things are quight out of theyr Que.
No graſſe on grounde doth growe. The earth no moiſture ſoupes,
The Uine withouten eny ſap, his drowſy head down drowpes.
What ſhal I ſay? all things (alas) are writhen out of courſe,
And as they ſeme to me, are lyke, to fare ſtyll worſe and worſe.
O mighty God aboue? when ende theſe euerduryng yls?
When ceaſtheſe Plages? that gyltles blud thus fierce and raging ſpyls?
I thynke but we almoſt alyue, there do no men remayne:
Whom dolfull Darts of Deſtenies, on earth haue left vnſlayne.
I thinke the darckſom ſhades of hell where filthy fluds do flowe,
Where plages and vile diſeaſes to where dreadfull horrors growe,
And all the furies braſten looſe do miſchiefes on vs throwe,
With botche & blane of ſundry kindes whiche ſothern blaſts do blowe,
And wrekfull vexed hagges of hell do breathe and on vs bringe
The angrie fendes of hell I thinke their vengeaūce on vs ſlinge
And out their mortall poyſon ſpue which they againſte vs beare.
Lo ſee how gredy death on vs with ſcowling eyes doth leare.
ſee ſee. Oh Ioue how faſt he throwes his Darts. Not one he ſpares
But al cōfownds. His thretning force, with ſtand no Creature dares.
No doubt the lotheſom Feryman the ſynful ſoules that traines
Through ſtincking fluds. his labour loths that he for vs ſuſtaynes.
ſuch preſſe by plumps to him is made which ſtill renews his paynes.
But harke yet mōſters more thē theſe the fame abroade dothe flie
That helliſhe dogges w^t Bawling ſound were herd to howle & cry,
And y^t the ground w^t trēbling ſhooke, and vnder fete dyd moue.
And dredfull blaſing Comets bright were ſeen in ſkies aboue.
And gaſtly ſhapes of men beſydes, to wander on the grounde.
And wood and trees on euery ſyde, Dyd fearfully reſounde.
Beſids all this ſtraūge ghoſts were ſeen in places wher they ſtode.
And ryuers more then one or two, that ran all blacke goord blud.
O cruell plage. O vile diſeaſe, far worſe then ſpedy death.
O we vnhappye thriſe and more, who do prolonge our breath.
In theaſe accurſed dayes and tymes. But harke to me a while.
When firſt this lothſom plage begins theſe myſers to defyle,
It takes them thus. A fearfull Cold through al their bones doth run,
And Cold and Heate together mixt, their ſences all benome.
Than litel lotheſom markes appeare, and all their bodies ſpotte.
And al the members flaming glows, and burning faſt do rot.
The Lights, the Lungs, the hart, the Gutts, and all that inward lies.
And all the ſecret partes Iſcorcht, with dedly fier fries.
The bloud al clotterd in their cheks, in cluſter lies by lumps.
And it and heat together makes, great ſtraunge and ruddy bumps.
And blud and fleſh congeled ſtands, in face as ſtiffe as ſtake.
And eyes in hed faſt fixed ſet, and often tricklyng make.
And down apace whole fluds they ſteame, and clots & drops do tril
And al the ſkin from of their face, by flakes and ſcales doth pill.
A thouſand fearful ſounds at once, into their eares do ruſh.
And lothſom blud out of their noſe, by ſtilling ſtreames doth guſh.
The very anguiſh of their hart, doth cauſe them for to ſhake.
And what w^t Payn & Heat & Feare, their weried lyms do quake.
Then ſom the rōning Riuers haunt, and ſome on ground do wallow.
And ſome agayn their thirſt to ſtake, cold water gulping ſwallow.
Thus all our country toſt w^t Plage in Grief it waltering lies.
And ſtil deſiring for to dy, A thouſand deathes it dyes.
But God them then to hear is preſt, And death to none denies.
Beſides all this, the churche ſom do frequent: but not to pray.
But only for to glut the Gods, with that that they do ſaye.
But who is this y^t comes from Court in haſt with poſting pace?
What is it Creon that Noble bloud? comended for his grace
(Of all that lyue.)

Or doth, my craſed minde oppreſt. thinges falſe for true conceyue,
Tis Creon long deſired for. His ſight doth me releyue.

The ſecond Acte.

The firſt Sceane.

Oedipus. Creon.

Oedipus FOr feare my body chilles alas and tremblinge all I ſtande
Inquaking dred. I ſeke & toile theſe miſchiefes to with ſtande.
But all in vayn I labour I it wil not bee I ſee.
As longe as meare repugnaunts thus together mixed bee.
My mynd deſirous ſtill (Oh god,) the truth for ſo vnfold.
With doutfull Dred is daunted ſo, that it can ſcante vp hold.
(It ſelf.)
O brother deare if eny meanes. or waye of health thou knowe.
Declare it out and ſticke not nowe. the truth to me to ſhowe,

Creon. Syr if it pleas your noble grace, the aunſwers hidden lies.

Oedipus Who doutful helth to ſick mē brings all health to them denies.
Creon. Appolloes vſe it is the trueth with darkſom ſhades to duſke.

Oedipus. And Oedipus of gods it hath, things doutfull to diſcus.

Creon. Speke out and ſpare not man. The mightie God comaundes.
To purge the Princes ſeat forthwith and that ſtrayght out of hande
That villayn vile requited be, with plages and vengeance due.
Who firce with blody handes of late, my brother Laíus ſlue.
Before that this performed be, no hope of mylder ayer.
Wherfore do this O king. or els, of hope and healthe diſpaier.

Oedipus. Durſt eny man on yearth attempt, that noble prince to ſlaye?
Shewe me y^e ſlaue that I may him, diſpatche out of the way.

Creon. God graunte the ſight be good (Alas;) the heringe is to terrible.
My ſences all amaſed ſtand, it is a thinge ſo horrible.
That I abhore to ſpeke my mynde, Oh god for feare I quake.
And euen at the very thought my lyms begin to ſhake.
Aſſoone as I Appollos Churche, had entred in afrayde.
Upon my face flat down I faul. And thus to him I prayd.
Oh God if euer thou dideſt rue, on wretched miſers ſtate.
Yf euer men oppreſt thou eaſd, or didſt theyr cares abate.
If euer thou in preſent Nede: didſt preſent Helpe declare.
If euer thou afflicted Harts, with Cares conſumd didſt ſpare.
Now ſhew thy dredful force (O God) ſhew now thy mighty pore.
ſcant had I ſayd: Reſownding all the mountayns thundring rore.
And filthy Feends ſpoute out their flames out of their darkſom caues.
And woods do quake. & Hils do moue and vp the ſurging waueſ
Do mount vnto the ſkies aloft. And I amaſed ſtand.
ſtil lokyng for an awnſwere at Appollos ſacred hand.
When out with ruffled hear diſguiſd the Prophet coms at laſt.
And when that ſhe had felt the heat, of mighty Phebus blaſt.
All puffyng out ſhe ſwels in rage, and pattring ſtill ſhe raues,
And ſcante ſhe entred had into, Appollos ſhinyng caues,
Whē out a thūdring voice doth bruſt Thats far aboue mans reache.
ſo dredful ſemed then to me, the mighty Phebus ſpeach.
Than thus he ſpake & thus at length, into myne ears he ruſht.
While ſprawling ſtill y^e Prophet lay before the doores in duſt.
The Thebane Citie neuer ſhall,¹ be free from Plagues, (quoth he,)
Except from thence the Kyng queller forthwith expulſed be.
Vnto Apollo knowen he was, or euer he was borne,
Do this: or els no hope of health, to this, the Gods haue ſworne.
Aud as for hym, he ſhall not long, in quiet fate endure:
But with hymſelfe, wage Warre he ſhall. and Warre he ſhall procure
Vnto his Children deare. And creepe agayne he ſhall,
into his Mothers wombe.
Oedipus. Loke what y^e gods comaūded haue accompliſhed ſhalbe.
Nor neuer ſhal theſe eyes of mine abide the daye to ſee.
A kinge of kingdom ſpoild by force: by guile and craft ſuppreſt.
A kinge to kinges the prop ought be, and chiefeſt cauſe of reſt.
No man regardes his death at all whom lyuinge he doth feare,

Creon Gret cauſe maks me my princes death concele and cloſely beare.

Oepipus (In mynde.)

Creon Ought enye cauſe of feare or griefe, thy dutie for to let.
The thretening of the Propheſies, do ſtill my breſt beſet.

Oedipus As gods haue wild vs for this miſchiefe mends now let vs make.
If eny waye or meanes there be, their ſuries for to ſlake.
Thou God y^t ſits in ſeate on high, and all the world doſt guide
And thou by whoſe comaundement, the ſtarres in ſkies do glide.
Thou thou that only ruler arte, of ſeas and fluds and all.
On the and on thy Godhed great, for theſe requeſts we call.
Who ſo hath ſlayn kinge Laius Oh Ioue I do the praye.
Let thouſande ils vpon him fall, before hys dienge daye.
Let him no health, no comfort haue, but al to cruſht with cares,
Conſume his wretched yeres in grief and though y^t Death him ſpares
A while. Yet miſchiefes all at once, at lengthe vpon him light.
With all the euils vnder ſonne, that vglye Monſter ſmight.
In exile let him lyue a ſlaue, the rated courſe of life.
In ſhame, in Care, in penurye, in Daunger and in ſtrife.
Let no man on him pitie take, let all men him reuile.
Let him his mothers ſacred Beds inceſtuouſlye defyle.
Let him his father kill. And yet let him do miſchifes more.
(what thing more heinous can I wiſh then that I wiſht before.)
Let him do all thoſe illes I ſay, that I haue ſhund and paſt.
All thoſe and more (if more maye be,) oh God vpon him caſt.
Let hym no hope of pardon haue: but ſue and all in vayn.
All helliſh Furies on him light, for to encreaſe his payn.
Oh loue powre downe thy fury great. thy thundryng thumps out throw.
Let Boreas boyſterous blaſts & ſtormie Plages vpon him blow.
Conſume hym quight. Fret out his guts with Pockes & botches vile.
Let all Diſeaſes on hym lyght, that wretched bodies fyle.
Let theſe and more (if more may be,) vpon that Monſter fall.
Let Harpies Pawes & gredy paunche: deuoure his members all.
Let no man hym regarde: or ſeeke his lyms in graue to laye.
But let hym dye ten thouſand deaths before his dieng daye.
By this my kyngdome I do ſweare, and kyngdom that I left,
By al my Countrey Gods that ben in Tempels cloſe I kept.
I ſweare, I vow, I do proteſt, and therto wytnes take:
The ſtars, the ſeas, the Earth, & all that ere thy hand dyd make.
Excepte that I my ſelfe forthwith this bludy Monſter finde
To wreke the wrath of God ſome way with ſolemne Oth I bynde.
And ſo my Father Polibus, his happy dayes outlyue.
And ſo my Mother Merope, no Mariage new contriue:
As he ſhall dye that did this dede. And none ſhall hym excuſe.
What ſoeuer that he be I ſweare: for that he ſhortly rues.
But where this wicked dede was don Creon now tell me playne?
Both by what meanes? & where? and how? King Laius was ſlayne.
Paſſing through Caſtalia woods, and Mowntayns heapd with ſnow

Creon. Where Groues of ſcrubs & Buſſhes thick & Brambels ſharp do grow.
A thre pathde crooked waye there is, that diuerſly doth go.
One vnto Bacchus Citie bends, that Phocia doth hyght:
The other to the Lande of Siſiphus forth ſtretcheth out a ryght.
The thyrde at thende wherof, a lothſom ſerpent lyes,
Tends down vnto the Banck wherby Eleia water plyes.
The are mynding nought but peas, a ſoden bande of theues.
By open force of Armes owtright, this miſchiefe greate contriues.
But lo aſwell as can be coms, Tireſiax with trembling pace.
I thinke Appollos heauenly might, hath brought him to this place.
Se where he comes and Manto to. his wayes directinge goes.

The ſeconde Acte.

The ſeconde Sceane.

Oedypus. Tyreſias, Manto,

Oedipus COme holye prieſt to Phebus next theſe doutfull aunſwers loſe.
And whom y^e deſtnies wil to dy. ſtraight wayes to me diſcloſe,

Tyreſias Renowmed Prince though ſtil I ſtand in ſilence dom diſmayd.
And though by inward feare of mynd my lingringe tonge is ſtaied.
Bet pardon me (O noble Prince,) and giue me leue a while.
From lack of ſight ſprings Ignorance whiche power hath to exyle,
Unſpotted Truth frō doutfull breſts. This thing full wel you knoe,
But whither god & Countrie calles, with willing mynde I goe.
Let dedlie fatall deſtenies, be boulted out at lengthe.
O kinge if I of greener yeres, had now my wonted ſtrength
This matter ſoone diſcuſt ſhould be, and I wold take in hande.
My ſelfe in preſence of the Gods, in temple for to ſtande.
A mighty Oxe all coulourd white, vp on the Aultars reare.
Which neuer yet on weried necke, the Croked yoke dyd beare.
And Manto thou O daughter myne, myne onely prop and ſtaye.
The ſecret hidden miſteries, and ſacred ſignes out ſaye.

Manto. The beſte before the Aultare ſtandes. Tyreſias To Gods a ſolemne praier make.

And on the holye Aultars to, ſome pleaſaunte odoures ſhake. 

Manto. Tis don. And all the fiers fierce, with incence bright do flame.

Tyreſias O Manto now what ſignes ſeeſt thou? how do thy matters frame?
What doth the fyre, the ſacrifice, encompas rounde about?

Manto. Not ſo. But firſt it mownts aloft, and ſtreight it flaſheth out.

Tire. Well. Yet, how doth the ſacred flame all ſhining bright and cleare
Hyt ſelf on highe vnto the ſkies, with ſparkeling flakes vpreare?
Or doth it oft rebounding backe, hit ſelf, from ſkies vnfould?
Or all with rumbling roring noiſe, about the place iſt rould?
Or mirt with ſmoke iſt toſt frō place. to place now here now theare?

Manto. Not all one but mingled colours, the flame doth with it beare.
Much lyke vnto the Raynbow, which hauing ſoundry hues,
Doth ſhew vnto the huſbandmen, the wether that enſues.
What colour it wants: or what it hath to me is like vncertayn.
Now is it black, now blue, now red, and euen now agayn
Quight out it is. Yet once again, all fierce it flaſhing flames.
But lo yet miſchiefs more then this, vnluckely it frames.
The fier quight aſounder parts, and flame with flame doth fight.
O father I abhorre to ſee, this vglye lotheſom ſight.
The wine to blud is turned quight, and all the Prynces hed.
With thicke black clouds encōpaſt is, with ſmoke all ouer ſpred.
O father tel what this portends? Tyreſias What ſhuld I tell alas?
My mynde for feare aſtonied ſtands, and trembling cold doth pas
Through all my lims. What ſhall I ſay? or wher ſhal I begin?
O cruel Plages O wrekfull Gods, O vengeaunce due for ſynne.
ſom horrible miſchief great, alas, theſe fearfull ſignes declare.
(O Iupiter)
whats that y^e Gods wold haue reueld and yet do bid beware.
(To vtter it,)
They are aſhamed: I know not what. Come hether quickely bring.
Som ſalte with the. Goe it vpon the wounded heifer fling.
Howe now? Doſt once reſiſtaunce make, or dooth it gentlye bide
The touchyng of thy ſacred handes. Manto His hed on highe he liftes.
And torning to the Eaſt, by courſe from thence he often ſhiftes
ſtill lothinge as he ſemes to me, Of heauen to ſee the light,
Oft ſcouling with his blearing eyes with gaſtely ruthefull ſight.

Tire. What? Doth one blowe them driue to groūd or more then one they haue.

Manto. The heifer as it ſeemd enflamd, with courage ſtoute and braue
Upon the mortall Blade dyd ruſh, and there himſelf deſtroyes.
When out the blud it foming ſpoutes, and mounts vnto the ſkies.
The bull twiſe ſtroke or thriſe, with groueling groning tyres.
And toyling vp and down he moyles. and ſtill to lyue deſires.
And yet at length with muche ado, his brutiſhe breth expiers.

Tyre. What? doth y^e wounde wide opē gape, or is it cloſed vp?
Or doth the depnes of the hole. the blod in ſoking ſupp.
Manto. Out of the wounded Heyfers breſt, blacke bluyſh waters ruſh.
And from his noſe and eyes, & mouth, whole ſtreams, of flud do guſh.

Tyreſias By this vnhappy ſacrefyce, great feares within me riſe.
But tell me now: In the inner parts. what ſecrets hydden lyes?

Manto. O father what means this? the inwardes, moore than wontyd guyſe.
Do moue & ſtyr, and ſhake my handes, and heauing oft do riſe.
The blud by ſtreams out of the vayns, full ſtrayngely ſkyppes aloft.
The hart all ſchorcht & hydden lyes, and ſtrykes are ſeene full oft,
Of Colour very wan and pale. The cheyfeſt parts do want.
The lyuer blackyſh gaull out ſpurts, and ſomwhat ryſyng pants.
And that that myſcheyfs great, to kyngdoms doth forſhow:
A litell lothſom pece of ſkyn, the hart doth ouergrowe.
And ouerwhelms it quight. Wherthrough, a man may eaſly ſee,
How both the hart the lights, & lūgs, And all dyſturbed bee,
No parte his proper place obſerues, or keeps his ordre due:
But altogether quight diſguiſd, with an vnwonted hue.
Miſſhapen out of frame, tranſformd, diſplaced quight. Alas.
I feare, I feare, ſome yll ſucces in this vnhappy cas.

Oedipus Declare from whence and why, theſe fearefull ſignes do ryſe,
With courage ſtout I wyll it heare, it ſhall not once aggryſe
My valiaunt mynd. Extremeſt yls haue power to banyſh feare:

Tyreſias You wyll wyſh y^t vnhard whiche you ſo muche deſyre to heare.

Oedipus Tell me I ſay, ſynce that the Gods wyl haue it to be knowen.
Tell me, what is his name that hath kyng Laius ouerthrowen?

Tire. No ſacrifyce wyll ſerue (O kyng) newe meanes muſt we inuent:
From dredful darke infernall damps: ſome Furye muſt be ſent
Theſe miſchiefes great for to vnfold. Or els kyng Ditis he,
That Empier keeps on Ghoſts, entreated needs muſt be
Theſe things forthw^t for to diſcloſe. Tell who ſhall haue the charge,
A kyng thou art, than mayſt not thou go throughe thoſe kyngdoms large

Oedipus Than noble Creon thou ſhalt goe, this payne is fytſt for the:
Who muſt this auncient kyngdom great enioy after me.

The thyrde Acte.

The firſt Sceane.

Oedipus. Creon.

Oedipus THough that thy face w^t ſadnes clad, in heauy mournyng guyſe:
Nought els portend: but dedli griefs and miſchiefs ſtyll to ryſe.
Yet tell ſom meanes wherby at lēgth the Gods we may appeaſe,
And purchaſe to our kyngdoms waſt, ſom hope of health and eaſe.
Creon Alas yow byd me that dyſcloſe, which feare doth byd me hyde.

Oedipus Yf that the Thebane Cities great, by doulfull Plags deſtroyd.
Do the not moue. Yet oughteſt thou, theſe kyngdoms for to rue,
Which were vnto thy brothers houſe, of auncient title due.

Creon You wiſh y^t thing to know: which you, will wiſh vnknown at length.

Oed. To baniſh ils: in Ignorance, ther reſts no power nor ſtrength.
Wilt thou in al thes miſcheyfs ſeeke, the truth for to ſuppres?

Creon Where Cure of Care is to be lothd, I ſeake not to redres.

Oedipus Speake out w^t ſpeade, or els I ſweare, thou ſhalt by practyſe proue,
How great a thyng of weight it is, a Princes mynd to moue.

Creon Kyngs often vſe to wiſh vntold. Which they bad tell before.

Oedypus. Go to diſpatch. Ceas of I ſay, to vere me any moore,
Except that thou furthwith thou wretch, this matter do diſcloes,
The Gods I do proteſt for all, to death thou only goes.
Creon Pardon me O noble kyng. gyue leue to hould my peas,
Of all the pardons Princes graunt. what pardon may be leas?

Oedipus As though y^e ſilence hurts not more, oftymes than words ill ſpent.
Diſpatch at once: ſtyr me no more. thou knowſt my wonted Guyſe,
Whan ſilence is denyed: what than remayns that lawfull is?
A traytour he is, that ſylence kepes whan he is byd to ſpeak.

Creon. Conſtraynd I am. Receiue my words with gentell mynd I pray.

Oedipus Was euer man rebukt for that. that he was byd to ſay?

Creon Well than ſince neds I muſt: I am, contented to obay.
A wood ther is from Citie far, encompaſt thick with trees,
Where Ryuers rore: & wynds do whyrle that ſtyr the ſtormy ſees,
Wher grows an aūcient Cipres tree with crookyd bendyd lyms,
With ſtretching down his braūches old, vnto the water bryms.
His euerduryng buſhes greene, whiche tyme dyd neuer breede,
With ſauours ſweet and comly mos, doth largely ouerſpreed.
Amydſt them all, a tree there is, with longe outſtretched Armes:
Whoſe roring ſownd, & craking noiſe the leſſer woods Icharmes,
And ouerſhades them all. A tree of monſtrous houge eſtate,
Beſet with fearfull woods: here is that dyre, and dredfull gate,
That leads to lothſom Lymbo Lake beneath, And pyts that euer flowe.
Wher choked myry mud doth ſtream with ſlymy courſe full ſlowe.
Here when the Prieſt was entred in, with comly aged pace,
He ſtayed not: No nede there was, for nyght was ſtyll in place.
Than all y^e ground wyde open gapes and ſmoutheryng vapours rýſe,
And fyre and ſmoke, & ſtyflyng ſtynk, mownts vp into the ſkies.
The Prieſt with waylyng weede, I clad his fatall rod out tooke:
And entryng in, in blacke Aray, full often tymes it ſhooke.
With heauy chere and dolfull pace. His hoary heare was twynde
With Bowes of mortall Ewe. A tree wherwith the mourners wynde,
Theyr mourning heads. & Garlands make. In this guyſe all arayde,
The ſacred Prieſt doth entre in, with quakyng lyms afrayd.
Than in the ſheepe and Oxen black, by backwarde courſe are drawn.
And odoures ſwete, & Frankencence, on flaming fyres are thrown.
The Beaſts on burnyng Altars caſt, do quake with ſchorched liues:
And bluddy ſtreames with fyre mixt, aboute the Aultars ſwims.
Than on the darke infernall Gods, and hym that rules them all:
With deadly ſhrykyng voyce aloude, the Prophet gyns to call.
And rouls the Magick verſe in mouth and hydden Artes doth proue:
Which eyther power haue to appeaſe or els the Gods to moue.
Than bludy ſtreaming lycours black with broylyng heate do boyle:
And al the Beaſts conſumes & burns. The Prophet than to toyle
Begins. And mingled wine and milk vpon the Aultars throwes.
And all the Dongeon darke, and wide with ſtreaming blood it flowes.
Than out with thūdring voyce agayn the Prophet calles and cries.
And ſtraight as muche w^t mumbling mouth he champs in ſecret wyſe.
The trees do turne. The Riuers ſtād The ground with roryng ſhakes.
And all the world as ſeems to me, with fearefull tremblyng quakes.
I am heard, I am heard, than out aloude, the Prieſt began to crye:
Whan all the dāpned ſoules by heaps abrode outruſhyng flye.
Then woods with rumblyng noyſe, do oft reſounding make.
And Heauen, & Earth together goes. And bowes & trees do crake.
And Thūders roore. And Lightnings flaſh. And waues aloft do flye.
And ground retyres: And Dogs do bawl And Ghoſts are herd to cry.
And whyther long of Acheron, that lothſom Flud that flowes.
All ſtynkyng ſtreames: or of y^e earth, that out her Bowels throwes,
Dead Corpſes to receyue. Or of that fyerce infernall Hownd
That at ſuche tymes doth buſtlyng make w^t chayns, & ratlyng ſownd.
The Earth all wide it open gapes. And I did ſe on grownd,
The Gods with colour pale and wan, that thoſe darke kingdoms keepe.
And very night I ſaw in dede. And thouſand ſhapes to creepe,
From out thoſe fylthy ſtynkyng lakes and lothſom pits of Hell.
Where all the euyls vnder ſon, in darkſom ſhades do dwell.
ſo quaking all for feare I ſtoode, with mynd ryght ſore apalde,
Whilſt on thoſe Gods w^t tremblyng mouth the Prieſt full often calde.
Who all at once, out of theyr dennes did ſkip with grieſly face.
And Mōſters grim, & ſtinging ſnakes ſeemd wander in that place.
And all the fowleſt Feends of Hell, and Furies all were there.
And al trāſformed Ghoſts & ſprights, that euer Hell did beare.
With Cares, and all Diſeaſes vyle, that mortall mynds do cruſh,
All thoſe, and more I ſawe out of thoſe Dongeons deepe to ruſh.
And Age I ſawe, with ryfled face, and Nede, and Feare, and Death,
And Fyre, and flames, & thouſand yls out fro thoſe Pyts to breath.
Then I was gon: and quight amazd. The wenche in worſer cas.
And yet of old, acquaynted with her Fathers Artes ſhe was.
The Prieſt hymſelf vnmoued ſtood, and boldly cited owt:
Whole Armies of kyng Ditis men, who cluſtryng in a Rowt:
Al flittring thin like Clowds, diſperſt abrode in Ayre do flye.
And breathing oft w^t dyuers formes, do ſcud aboue in ſkie.
A thouſand woods I thinke haue not, ſo many leaues on trees.
Ten thouſād medowes freſh haue not ſo many ſwarmyng Bees.
Ten hundred thouſand Hils haue not ſo many flakes of ſnow.
Nor all the drops & ſtreames, & gulffſ that in the ſeas do flow.
Yf that they myght be wayd, can once ſo great a number make,
As could thoſe ſhapes & forms y^t flew from out of Limbo lake.
Both Tantalus and Zetus to, and pale Amphions Ghoſt:
And Agaue, and after her, ten thouſand ſprights do poſt.
Than Pentheus and more and more, in lyke eſtate enſue:
Tyll out at length coms Laius: with fowle and grieſly hue.
All perſt w^t wounds, I loth to ſpeake with blud quight ouergrown:
Uncomly dreſt, in wretched plight, with head ſtyll hangyng down.
A Miſer ryght as ſeemd to me, and moſt of Miſers all:
Thus in this caſe, at length he ſpake, and thus began to call.
O Cadmus cruell Cytie vile, that ſtyll delightſt in blood,
O Cadmus thou, which kinſmens deth, acowntſt as chiefeſt good.
Teare out the bluddy Bowels of your Chyldren. Learne of me,
Do that, & rather more: than you wold byde the daye to ſe.
Like yls as late on me are lyght. Loe Mothers loue, (Alas)
Is now, the ryfeſt fault outryght that ere in Theba was.
The Coūtrye with the wrath of gods at this tyme is not toſt.
Nor Earth nor Ayre infect is not the cauſe that all ben loſt.
No. No. A bluddy kyng is cauſe of all theſe miſchifes greate.
A bluddy wretche. A wretched Child that ſits in Fathers ſeate.
And Mothers bed defyles (O wretch) and entreth in agayn,
In places whence he came frō once and doubleth ſo her payne.
And that, that very Beaſts almoſt, do all abhorre to do:
Euen of his Mothers body he, hath brothers gotten too.
(O myſchief great,) (O dredful dede) than ſphinx, O Monſter more.
Example vnto Ages all, of Gods foretolde before.
But I thee, thee y^e ſcepter holdſt, thy Father wyll purſue:
And wreke my ſelfe on the and thyne, with fearefull vengeaunce due.
All raging Plagues, all Botches vile I wyll vpon the blowe.
And all the fowleſt Feends of Hell, vpon the I wyll throwe.
I wyll ſubuert thy Houſes cleane, for this thy lothſom luſt.
I wyll do this, thou wretche. And the and thyne, conſume to duſt.
Wherfore diſpatche at once (I ſaye) into exyle dryue your Kyng.
That groūd that fyrſt of all he leaues with freſh greene graſſe ſhal ſpryng
And ſwete and pleaſaunt Ayre, and healthfull blaſts ſhall blow.
And all the euyls vnder the ſon, that beaſtly ſlaue ſhall folow.
The Poks, y^e Piles, y^e Botch, y^e blane and Death with hym ſhall flye.
And with hym miſchiefs all ſhall pas, and Monſters vnder ſkye.
And as for hym I know he wold depart with wyllyng mynd:
But I wyll clog his feete and hands, his way he ſhall not fynd.
But groping with his aged ſtaffe, ſhall paſſe from place to place.
This ſhall he do. And none ſhall rue vpon his wretched caſe.
Ryd you hym from the yearth in time for Heauen let me alone:
No ſooner ſayd, but ſtrayght away, his dreadfull Ghoſt was gone.
And faſt by thouſands after hym, thother ſprights in hyde:
Than Cold & tremblyng feare began through all my bones to glyde.

Oedipus That, that I alwayes feard, alas vpon me now is layde:
But ſlender props thei are (God wot) wherby your Treaſon is ſtayde.
Meropa my Mother deare, ſhall me from this defende.
And Polibus ſhall purge me quight, from Actions all that tend
To muder, or to inceſt vile, they both ſhall me excuſe.
In ſuche a caſe no meanes at all of tryall I refuſe.
Laye what you can vnto my charge. No fault in me remayns.
The Thebanes long or I cam here, of Laius death complayns.
My mother yet alyue, my Father ſtyll in lyke eſtate.
No, no, this is ſom doltyſh dryft, of you falſe Prophets pate.
Or els ſom mighty God aboue, doth beare vs no good wyll,
And ſekes by Plages on vs to wreke, his wrathfull vengeaunce ſtyll.
A ſyr I am glad, at length I ſmell your dryfts and fetches fyne:
I know the whole confedrats well your ſleyghts I can vntwyne.
That beaſtly Prieſt. That blearcyed wretch be lyes the Gods and me:
And thee thou Traytour in my place hath promyſt kyng to be.

Creon Alas wold I my ſyſter of, her lawfull kyngdom ſpoyle?
Thinke you ſuche Treaſon may haue place in brothers breſt to boyle?
Yf that myne Oth could me not kepe content with my degree:
But that contemnyng meane eſtate, I wold clime aloft to be.
Yet ſhould yll Fortune me deterre, from ſuche attempts I trowe:
Whoſe guyſe it is on Princes heads, houge heapes of Cares to throwe.
I wold aduyſe you ſyr betymes, this charge from you to threſt:
Leaſt lyngryng long w^t it at length, vnwares ye be oppreſt.
Aſſure your ſelfe, in baſer ſtate, more ſafer you may lyue:
And ſhun a thouſand Cares & Griefs: whiche Princes Harts do ryue.

Oed. And doſt thou me exhorte thou ſlaue my kyngdoms for to leaue?
Darſt thou attempt thou vyllayn vile this thyng to me to breake?
And fearſt thou not in ſuche a caſe ſo boldly for to ſpeake.

Creon Thynk you I wold them ſo perſwade whiche freely myght poſſes
Theyr Realmes? Or thoſe y^t nede not fear leaſt cares ſhould thē oppres.
But as for you, of force you muſt, your Fortunes chaunge abyde:

Oedipus The ſureſt way for them that gape, for kyngdoms large and wyde:
Is fyrſt thyngs meane, and reſt and baſe eſtate to prayſe:
And yet with tooth & Nayle to toyle, to mownt aloft alwayes.
ſo oftentymes moſt reſtles Beaſts, do chyefly reſt cōmende.

Creon. Shall not my ſeruyce long ſuffice, my trueth for to defende?
Oedipus Tyme is the onely meanes for ſuch, as thou to worke, theyr wil.

Creon It is ſo ſyr. But as for me, of goods, I haue my fyll.
A great reſort. A pleaſaunt lyfe: from Pryncely Cares, exempt.
Al theſe might me diſwade (O king) from ſuche a fowle attempt.
Not one daye there is almoſt, the whole yeare throughout:
Wherin ſome Royall Gyfts are not, vnto my Howſes brought.
Both precious Pearles, and princely Roobs and things of greater coſt:
Whiche I let poſſe, leſt I ſhuld ſeeme but vaynely for to boſt.
In ſuche a bleſſed happy ſtate, what thing nede I require?

Oed. The more y^u haſt, I know right well, the more thou doſt deſyre:
Good fortune can no mean obſerue, but ſtyll ſhe preaſeth hyer.

Creon Shall I than gyltles dye Alas, my cauſe and all vntryde?

Oed. Were vnto you at any tyme my lyfe, my dedes diſcryde?
Did eny man defende me yet? or els my cauſes pleade?
And yet I am condemd. To this you do me leade.
And me expres example giue whiche I entend to folow:

Creon What yf that Innocent I be: Oedip The guyſe of kyngs you know
Is doubtfull things for true to feare yf thence may miſchief grow.

Creon The often fearful tremblyng mynd, true cauſe of feare doth ſhow.

Oedip He that in mydſt of perylles deepe, and daungers hath ben caſt,
Doth ſeeke all meanes to ſhun lyke yls as he hath ouerpaſt.

Creon So hatreds ryſe. Oe. He that to much doth vſe yll wyll to feare,
Unſkylfull is: and knowes not how, he ought hym ſelfe to beare
In kyngs eſtate. For feare alone doth Kyngdoms chiefly keepe.
Than he that thus doth arme hymſelf from feare all free may ſleepe.

Creon Who ſo the Tyrant playes and gyltles men with force doth ſmight:
He dredeth them that hym do dred thus feare doth chiefly light.
On Cauſers chief A iuſt reuenge, for murdrynge mynds outryght.

Oedipus Awaye with this Traytour. Awaye. In Dongeon deepe hym caſt:
There let his vyle deceytfull mynd due paynes and vengeaunce taſt
For his deſerued yls. Let there dyre bondage him conſtrayne:
Bondage the chiefeſt ſcourge of mind that Traytours can ſuſtayne.

Chorus.

SEE, ſee, the myſerable eſtate, of Prynces carefull lyfe.
What raging ſtorms? what bludy broils what toil? what endles ſtrife
Do thei endure? (O God) what plags? what grief do they ſuſtayne?
A Princely lyfe: No. No. (No doubt) An euer durynge payne.
A ſtate ene fyt for men on whom Fortune wolde wreeke her wyll.
A place for Cares to couche them in. A doore wyde open ſtyll
For gryefs and daungers all that ben to entre when they lyſt.
A kyng theſe Mates muſt euer haue, it boots not to reſyſt.
Whole fluds of priuy pinching feare. great anguyſh of the mynd:
Apparaunt Plages, & deyly gryfs. Theſe playſayres Princes fynd.
And other none, w^t whom they ſpende and paſſe theyr wretched dayes.
Thus he that Princes liues, and baſe eſtate togither wayes:
(ſhall fynde the one,)

A Dongeon deepe. A very Hell. A perfect infelycitie.
(The other,)
A Heauen ryght: A bleſſed lyfe, exempted quight from myſerye.
Let Oedipus Example be of this vnto you all,
A Mirrour meete. A Patern playne, of Princes carefull thrall.
Who late in perfect Ioy as ſeemd, and euerlaſtyng blys,
Tryumphantly his lyfe out ledde, a Miſer now outright he is,
And moſt of wretched Miſers all, euen at this preſent tyme,
With doutfull waues of feare I toſt, ſubiect to ſuche a Cryme.
Wherat my tong amaſed ſtayes, God graunt that at the laſt,
It fall not out as Creon tolde. Not yet the worſt is paſt,
(I feare.)

The fourth Acte.

The ſeconde Sceane.

Oedipus. Iocaſta.

Oedipus MY mynd w^t doubtfull waues of feare, is toſſed to and fro
I wot not what to ſay. Alas I am tormented ſo.
For all the Gods on me do crye, for paynes and vengeaunce dew,
They ſaye y^t theſe my gyltles handes, kyng Laius ouerthrew.
But this my valiaunt Courage ſtout, and minde from miſchief free,
To Gods vntried, to me well known denies it ſo to bee.
Full well I do remember once, by chaunce I dyd diſpatche,
A man: who ſought by force with me, preſumptuouſly to matche.
And ſought by force me to diſplace, as moche as in hym laye.
This I remembre well enough, the ſtryfe was for the waye.
And he a man of aged yeares, and I a luſty blood.
And yet of me are diſdayn and pryde, in vayne he me withſtood.
But this from Thebes farre was don. A crooked thre pathd way:
That was y^e place for which we ſtroue this I remember well,
Deare wyfe reſolue my dout at once and me expreſſely tell.
How olde was Laius when he died, of freſh and luſty yeares?
(Or was he ſtryken well in age?)

Iocaſta Betwyxt an olde man and a yong: but nearer to an olde.

Oedipus Were there great Bandes of men w^t hym his Perſon to vphold?

Iocaſta Some by the way deceyued were. And ſome deterd by payne.
A fewe by toyle and labour long, did with theyr Prynce remayne.

Oedipus Were any ſlayne in his defence? Iocaſta But one of whom I here:
Who valiant in his Prynces cauſe, full ſtowtly dyd expier.
Oed. It is enough I know hym now, that hath this miſchiefe done.
The nombre and the place agrees. The tyme vntryed alone
Remayns. Than tell what tyme he died and when that he was ſlayn.

Iocaſta Tis ten yeare ſynce: You now renue the cauſe of all my payne.

The fourth Acte.

The ſecone Sceane.

Senex. Oedipus.

Sen. THe Corinth people all (O kyng) do call for you to raygne,

Polibus In your own kingdoms. eternall reſt obtayne.

Oe. O God what Fortune vyle doth me doth oppres on euery ſyde?
How do my ſorowes ſtyll encreas? Tell how my father dide.

Sene No one diſeaſe but onely Age, did of his lyfe hym reaue.

Oedipus. And is he deade in dede? Not ſlayn? What ioye may I conceyue?
How may I now triumph? The Gods to wytnes I do call,
To whō are known my hidden thoughts & ſecret workyngs all.
Now may I lyft to ſkies my hands, my hands from miſchief free.
But yet the chiefeſt cauſe of feare, remayneth ſtyll to me.

Sen. Your Fathers Kyngdoms ought all dred out of your mynde to weare.

Oedipus That I confes. But wretched beaſt, my Mother I do feare.

Sen. Do you your Mother feare? on your returne that onely ſtayes.

Oedipus I feare not her: but from her ſyght my godly Zeale me frayes.

Sen. What will you her a Wydow leaue? Oedipus Now, now, thou woundſt my hart.
This, this, and onely this alas, is cauſe of all my ſmart.

Senex. Tell me (O kyng) what toutful fear! doth preſſe thy Pryncely breſt:
Kyngs Cowncels I can well concele that ben with Cares oppreſt.

Oedipus. Leaſt as Apollo hath foretolde, I ſhulde a Mariage make
With myne owne Mother: only this fowle feare doth make me quake.
Sen. Suche vayn & peuyſh feares, at lēgth from out your breſt et yle.
Meropa your Mother is not in dede, you do your ſelfe beguyle.

Oed. What vauntage ſhuld it be to her adopted ſonnes to haue?

Sen. A kyngdom ſhe ſhall gayne therby. Her Huſbande layde in graue.
The chiefeſt prop to ſtay her Realms from preſent Confuſion,
Is Children for to haue: and hope of lawfull ſucceſſion.

Oed. Tell me y^e meanes wherby thou doſt, theſe ſecrets vnderſtand?

Sen. It was I that you an Infant gaue into your fathers hand.

Oed. Didſt thou me to my Father gyue? Who than gaue me to thee?

Sen. A ſhepharde ſir, that wonted on Cytheron Hyls to bee.

Oedip. What made thee in thoſe woods to raunge what hadſt y^u there to do?

Sen. Upon thoſe Hils my Beaſts I kept, ſomtyme a ſhepharde to.

Oedip. What notes, what priuy markes haſt thou wherby thou doſt me know?

Oed. The hols y^t thrugh your feet ar bored frō whence your name did grow.
Oedip. Declare what was his name y^t gaue my body vnto thee?

Senex The Kings chief ſhephard thā y^t was delyuered you to mee.

Oed. What was his name? Se. Old mens remembraunce ſoone doth fayle:
Oblyuion for the chiefeſt part, doth hory heads aſſayle
And drowns theyr former memory of thyngs long out of mynd.

Oed What? canſt y^u know the man by ſight? Sen. Perhaps I ſhould hym fynd,
and know by face. Thīgs ouerwhelmd by tyme, and quight oppreſt.
A ſmall marke oft to mynde reuokes, and freſh renues in breſt.

Oedipus. Sirs byd y^e Herdmen furthwith driue theyr Beaſtes to Aultars all.
Away with ſpeed, make haſt the Maſter ſhepherds to me call.

Sen. Whyther thy Deſtenies this do hyde or Fortune it detain,
And cloſely kepe: Let it be ſo, from openyng that refrayne.
That long conceald hath hydden lien that ſeake not to diſcloſe:
Suche thyngs outſercht & foūd oftymes agaynſt the ſercher goes.
Oed. Can any myſchyefe greater be? than this that now I feare.

Sen. Aduyſe you well remembre fyrſt what weight this thyng doth beare:
That thus you go about to ſerche, and ſift with tooth and nayle,
Obſerue the golden meane: Beware beare ſtyll an equall ſayle.
Your Coūtreies wealth, O king your lyfe, and all vpon this lyes.
Though you ſtyr not, be ſure at lēgth your Fortune you eſcryes.
A happy ſtate for to diſturbe doth nought at all behoue.

Oed. When things be at the worſt of them a man may ſafely moue.

Sen. Can you haue ought more excellent? than is a Prynces ſtate?
Beware leaſt of your Parents found if you repent to late.

Oedip. No, no, I warrant that? Repent? not I, I trowe:
I ſeeke it not to that entent. I haue decreed to know,
The matter at the full. Wherfore I wyll it now purſue.
Lo Phorhas wher he tremblyng coms, with comly aged hue.
To whom of all the kyngs flock than, the care and charge was due.
Doſt y^e his name, his ſpeache, his face, or yet his perſon know?

Senex Me thynks I ſhuld haue ſeen his face and yet I can not ſhow
(The places where:)

This looke is nether thrughly known nor yet vnknown to me

I can not tell. I doubt it muche. And yet it may be he.

In Laius tyme long ſynce when he, theſe Kyngdome great dyd keepe:
Waſt y^u not on Citheron Hils? chyefe ſhepharde to his ſheepe.

The fourth Acte.

The thyrde Scaene.

Phorbas. Senex. Oedipus.

Phorbas SOmtim a charge of ſhep I had vnworthy though I weare
And on thoſe Hils long ſince chief rule on other ſhephards bare.
Se. Knowſt y^u not me. Ph. I can not tell. Oe Didſt y^u once giue this man

A Child. ſpeake out, why doſt thou ſtaye? yf ſo, declare it than.
Why doſt y^u bluſh & doubtyng ſtand Trueth ſeeketh no delay?

Phoe. Thyngs out of mynd you byd reuoke almoſt quight worne away.

Oedipus Confes thou ſlaue, or els I weare, thou ſhalt conſtrayned be.

Phor. In dede I do remembre once, an Infant yong by me,
Delyuered was vnto this Man: But well I wot in vayn,
I know he could not long endure, nor yet alyue remayne.
Long ſince he is dead, & rakte in duſt, he lyues not at this daye.

Senex No? God forbyd, he lyues no dowt, and long may lyue I pray.

Oedip. Why doſt thou ſay the Child y^u gaueſt is dead and rakte in duſt?

Phor. Becauſe that through his tender feet. an Iron ſharpe was thruſt:
Wherof a greuous ſwellyng roſe, I ſaw the blood to guſh
Frō out of both the woundes: & down by powryng ſtreams to ruſh.
Sen. Now ſtaye (O kyng) no farther now, you know almoſt the trothe.

Oedipus Whoſe child was it? tell me forthw^t. Phor. I dare not for myne Othe.

Oedip. Thyne Othe y^• ſlaue. ſome fyre here. Ile charme thyne Othe & the,
With fyre and flames: except forthw^t thou tell this thyng to me.

Phor. O pardon me, thoughe rude I ſeeme, I ſeeke not to withſtande
Your Graces mynd: and wyll not I. My lyfe is in your hande.

Oedipus Tel me the troth, what child, & whoſe what was his Mothers name?

Phor. Borne of your wyfe and brough.

Oedipus O Earth burſt out and gape for me, deuoure my body quight,
Or els thou God, that Ruler art of Houſes voyde of lyght.
To Hell my ſoule w^t Thunder bolts to Hell my ſoule down dryue.
Where furyous Ghoſts in darkenes deepe and endles payne do lyue.
For the alone, theſe Plages do rage, For the theſe miſchiefs ryſe.
For thee, the Earth lyes deſolate. For the thou wretche the ſkies
Infected are. For the, for the, and for thy fylthy luſt,
A hundred thouſand gyltles men, conſumed are to duſt.
O people throw: caſt heaps of ſtones vpon this hatefull Hed:
Bathe all your Blades w^tin my Guts ſhewe pytie none. Procede.
Agaynſt me vyle tranſformed Beaſt with paynes and vengeaunce due.
Let Father, ſon, and wyfe, and all, with Weapons me purſue.
Let thoſe that for my ſake alone, with Plages tormented be
Throw Darts. Caſt ſpeares: Flyng ſtones & flamyng Bronds on me.
O ſlaue. O fylthy vacabound. O hatefull head of thyne.
Confownder O of Nature thou, to godly Lawes deuyne.
Euen from thy byrth an open foe. Go to, diſpatche, and dye.
Thou haſt deſerued Death. Go, go, vnto the Court the hye.
Therwith thy mother ſlaue triumphe Reioyce as thou mayſt do:
Whiche haſt thy Houſe encreaſed w^t vnhappy Chyldren ſo.
Make haſte w^t ſpede, away, ſom thyng thy miſchyefs worthy fynde.
And on thy ſelf wreke all the ſpyght of thy reuengyng mynd.

Chorus.

FOrtune y^e Dame of preſēt lyefe
doth all thyngs chaūge at wil
& ſtyrryng ſtyl, procureth grief
ſuche myſers minds to fyll.
Which careful ar theyr ſtates to kepe
when boyſtrous ſtormes do ryſe,
And bluſtring winds & daūgers depe
ſetts Death before theyr eyes.
Who ſaith he doth her fawning feele!
and chaungeth not his mynde,
Whē fickle flight of Fortunes wheele
doth turne by courſe of kynde.
Thes greuous Plags frō priuat hous
to Princely Thrones do flow.
And oft theyr minds w^t cares thei fous
and thick vpon them ſtrow.
Whole heapes of grief & dyre debate.
A wofull thyng to ſee:
A Princely lyfe to myſers ſtate,
conuerted for to bee.
O Oedipus thy fatall fall,
thy dredfull miſchiefs ryght.
Thy dolfull ſtate, thy myſery,
thy thriſe vnhappy plyght:
Theſe thyngs ſhal blaſe through all y^e world:
what hart may thē reioyce
At thy dyſtreſſe? I can no more:
my teares do ſtop my voyce.
But what is he that yonder ſtamps?
and ragyng puffs and blowes,
And often ſhakes his vexed head,
ſome miſchief great he knowes.
(What newes good ſyr with you?)

The fyft Acte.

The fyrſt Sceane.

Nuntius.

WHen Oedipus accurſed wretche, his fatall fals had ſpied,
(And miſchiefs great.)
To Hell he damnd his wretched ſoule and on the Gods he cried
For vengeaunce due. And poſting faſt with frantik moode & grieſly hue,
Unto his dolfull Court he went, his thoughts for to purſue.
Muche lyke a Lion rampyng wyld, his furious head that ſhakes.
And roors w^t thundring mouth alowd And often gnaſhing makes,
None otherwiſe this miſer fared. A lothſom ſyght to ſee.
Beſydes hymſelf for very rage, he ſtyll deſyres to die.
And rouling round his wretched eies with viſage pale and wan:
Ten thouſand Curſes out he powres. Hymſelf the vnhappieſt man
Of all that lyue, he doth accownt: As iuſtly he may doe.
A wretche. A ſlaue. A Caytyfe vyle. The cauſe of all his woe.
And in this caſe enflamd with ſpite he cries, he ſtamps, he raues.
And boylyng in his ſecret thoughts he ſtyll deſyres to haue.
All torments vnder ſon that may his Cares conceyued encreas.
O wretched wyght, what ſhuld he do? What man may hym releas?
Thus foming all for rage at mouth, with ſyghs, and ſobs, and grones,
His damned hed ten thouſand tymes. as oft his weryed bones
He beats. And often puffing makes, and roors, and ſwels, and ſweats.
And on the Gods for death he calles, for Death he ſtyll entreats.
Three tymes he dyd begyn to ſpeake: and thryſe his tong dyd ſtay.
At length he cried out alowd: O wretche Away, away.
Away thou monſtrous Beaſt he ſayd: Wilt thou prolong thy lyfe?
Nay rather ſom man ſtryke this breſt with ſtroke of bludy knyfe.
Or all you Gods aboue on me your flamyng fyers outcaſt:
And dints of Thunderbolts down throw This is my Prayer laſt.
What gredy vile deuouring Gripe, vpon my guts wyll gnaw?
What Tigre fierce my hatefull lime wyll quight aſundre draw?
Loe, here I am you Gods: Loe, here, wreke now on me your wyll?
Now, now you fyry feends of Hell, of vengeaunce take your fyll.
Send out ſom wild outrageous beaſt ſend Dogs me to deuoure.
Or els all yls you can deuyſe, at once vpon me powre.

O wofull ſoule. O ſynfull wretche. Why doſt thou feare to dye?
Death only rids frō woes y^u knowſt. Than ſtoutly Death defye.
With that his bluddy fatall Blade, from out his ſheath he drawes,
And lowd he cryes. What now? thou beaſt? Why doſt thou pawes?
Thy father y^u haſt ſlayn. Thou, thou. Thou Cayteyf vyle.
Thou wretch, y^u ſlaue, y^u Beaſt, y^u doſt thy Mothers Bed defyle.
And Brothers y^u haſt got. Nay ſons ſons: Thou lieſt: thy brothers all
Thei ar. Thus for thy monſtrous luſt thy Countrey downe doth fall.
And thynkſt thou than for al theſe yls enough ſo ſhort a payne?
Thynkſt y^u the Gods wyll be apeaſde, yf thou forthwith be ſlayne?
ſo many miſchiefs don: And iſt enough one ſtroke to byde?
Accownſt thou it ſufficient payne, that once thy Blade ſhulde glyde
Quight thrugh thy gilty guts for all? Why then diſpatche and dye.
So maiſt thou recōpence thy Fathers death ſufficiently.
Let it be ſo. What mends vnto thy Mother wylt thou make?
Unto thy children what? Theſe plags how wylt thou ſlake?
That al for thee thy Countrey waſts? One puſh ſhall ende them all.
A propre fetche. A fyne deuyſe. For thee a worthy fall
Inuent thou Monſtrous Beaſt. A fall ene worthy for
Thy ſelfe inuent: whom al men hate and loth, and do abhor.
And as Dame Natures lawful cours is brooke thou wretche by thee,
So let to ſuche a miſchiefe great, thy Death agreyng bee.
O that I might a thouſand tymes, my wretched lyfe renewe.
O that I myght reuyue and dye by Courſe in ordre dewe.
Ten hundred thouſand tymes & more Than ſhuld I vengeaunce take
Upon this wretched pate. Than I perhaps in part ſhuld make
A meete amends outright, for this my fowle and lothſom ſyn.
Than ſhuld y^e proofe of payn reproue the lyfe that I lyue in.
The choyſe is in thy hand y^u wretche, than vſe thyne owne diſcretion.
And fynde a means, wherby y^u mayſt com to extreme confuſion.
And that, y^t oft thou mayſt not doo let it prolonged bee.
Thus, thus, maiſt y^u procure at length an endles Death to thee.
ſerche out a death wherby y^u mayſt perpetuall ſhame obtayne:
And yet not dye. But ſtyll to lyue in euerlaſtyng payne.
Why ſtayſt thou man? Go to I ſay: What meane theſe blubbring tears
Why weepſt thou thus? Alas to late. Leaue of thy foolyſh feares.
And iſt enough to weepe thinkſt thou? ſhall teares and waylyng ſerue?
No wretche it ſhall not be. Thou doſt ten thouſand deaths deſerue.
Myne eyes do dally with me I ſee, and teares do ſtyll out powre.
ſhall guſhyng teares ſuffice? Not ſo, I ſhall them better ſcowre.
Out w^t thyne eyes, he ſayd: And than with Fury fierce inflamd:
Lyke to a bludy ragyng Feend, and Monſtrous Beaſt vntamd.
With fyery flamyng ſpotted cheekes his breſt he often beats.
And ſcratch, and teare his face he doth and ſkyn aſundre freats.
That ſcarſe his eies in hed could ſtand ſo ſore he them beſets.
With furyous fierce outrageous mynd he ſtamps & cries alowd:
And roors & rayls, w^t rampyng rage. Thus in this caſe he ſtood,
Perplext, and vexed ſore in mynd, with deadly ſighs and teares.
When ſodenly all franticklyke hymſelf from ground he rears.
And rooteth out his wretched eyes. And ſyght aſundre tears.
Than gnaſheth he his bludy teeth, and bites, and gnawes, & champs,
His eies all bathd and brued in blood, for fury fierce he ſtamps.
And ragyng more than nedes alas, his eyes quight rooted out:
The very holes in vayn he ſcrapes ſo ſore the wretche doth dout:
Leaſt ſyght ſhuld chaunce for to remayn he rents & mangls quight
His face, his eyes, his noſe, his mouth And all wheron his hands do lyght
He rygs & ryues. Thus fowly rayd alas in pyteous plyght:
At length his head aloft he lyfts, and therwith gyues a ſhright.
And whan he ſees that all is gone, both lyght, and ſyght, and all.
Than ſchriching owt: he thus begyns vpon the Gods to call.
Now ſpare you Gods, ſpare now, my Countrey preſt to fall.
I haue done that you dyd cōmaund: Your wraths reuenged bee.
This wretched looke, this mangled face, is fitteſt now for thee.
Thus ſpeakyng down y^e blakiſh blud by ſtreames doth guſhyng flow
Into his mouth. And clottred lumps of fleſh the place doth ſtrow
(Wherin he ſtands.)
Beware betymes, by hym beware, I ſpeake vnto you all.
Learn Iuſtice, trueth, & fear of Gods By this vnhappy fall.

Chorus.

OUr lyf w^t tōblyng fatal cours of Fortunes whele is rold.
To it giue place, for it doth run al ſwiftly vncontrold
And Cares & teares ar ſpent in vayn for it can not be ſtayed:
But nedes muſt run the rated race, of Deſtenies all decreed.
What mākynd hydes or does on erth it cōmmeth from aboue.
Then wayling grones powrd out in griefs do nought at all behoue.
Our lyf muſt haue her pointed cours Alas what ſhall I ſaye.
As fates, decrees, ſo things do run. no man can make them ſtay.
For at our byrth to gods is known our latter dying day.
No Prayer, no Arte, not God himſelf may fatall fates reſiſt.
But faſtned all in fixed cours, vnchaunged they perſiſt.
ſuche ende them ſtyll enſues as they appoincted were to haue,
Than flye all fear of Fortunes chaūge ſeeke not to lyue a ſlaue
Enthrald in bondage vyle to feare. For feare doth often bryng
Deſtnies that dreded ben and miſcheyfs feard vpon vs ſlyng.
Yea many a man hath com vnto his fatall ende by feare.
Wherfore ſet peuyſh feare aſyde, and worthy courage beare.
And thou that ſubiect art to Death. Regarde thy latter daye.
Thinke no man bleſt before his ende Aduyſe the well and ſtaye.
Be ſure his lyfe, and death, and all, be quight exempt from myſery:
Ere thou do once preſume to ſaye: this man is bleſt and happy.
But owt alas, ſee where he coms: A wretche withouten Guyde,
Bereft of ſyght. Half ſpoyld of lyfe: Without all pomp and Pryde
(That vnto kyngs Eſtate belongs.)

The fyfth Acte.

The ſecond Sceane.

Oedipus. Chorus. Iocaſta.

Oedipus

VUell, well: Its don. More yet? No no no more remayns
My Fathers rites performed ar. What God? on Miſers payns
That rues. Within this Clowd hath rold & wrapt my wretched pate.
Ah ſyr: this is a lyfe alone. This is a happye ſtate.
This is a caſe ene fyt for thee, for thee thou wretche, for thee.
From whoſe accurſed ſyght the ſon, the ſtars and all do flee.
Yet miſchiefs more who gyues to do? The dredfull daye I haue
Eſcapte. Thou fylthy Paracide: Thou vyle miſcheiuous Slaue.
Unto thy ryght hād nought thou owſt all thyngs performed bee.
Unhappy man that euer I lyued this wretched daye to ſee.
Where am I nowe alas: The lyght and all doth vs
Abhorre. This looke is firſt for the, thou myſerable Oedipus.

Chorus. Se ſe, where Iocaſta coms, with fyerce and furyous moode,
Quight paſt her ſelfe. For very rage ſhe frets and waxeth woode.
Lyke to ſyr Cadmus Mother mad, who late her ſon dyd kyll:
Fayne wold ſhe ſpeake her mynd: For feare alas ſhe dares not: ſtyll
ſhe ſtayes. And yet all ſhamefaſtnes theſe yls haue quight exild
(From out her wretched breſt.)

Iocaſta Fayne wold I ſpeake, I am afrayd for what ſhuld I the call
My ſon? dowt not. Thou art my ſon My ſon thou art for all
Theſe miſchiefs great. Alas, alas, my ſon is aſhamd of mee.
O cruell ſon. Where doſt thou turn thy face? Why doſt thou flee
From me? From me thy Mother deare Why doſt thou ſhun my ſyght?
And leaue me thus in myſerye with Cares conſumed quight.
Oedipus. Who troubles me? Let me alone. I thought not to be fownd:
Who now reſtores myne eyes to me my Mother, or my Mothers ſownd?
Our labour all is ſpent in vayne, now may we meete no more.
The ſeas deuide thoſe meetings vile that we haue had before.
The gaping yearth deuyde vs both, thone from thother quight.
ſtyll let our feete repugnant bee. ſo ſhall I ſhun the lyght
(That moſt of all me greues.)

Iocaſta The Deſtenies ar in faut. Blame thē. Alas, alas, not wee.

Oedipus Spare now. Leaue of to ſpeak in vain ſpare now O Mother me,
By theſe Relyques of my diſmembred body I thee praye.
By myne vnhappy Chyldren pledges left. What ſhall I ſaye?
By all the Gods I thee beſeche, By all that in my name,
(Is eyther good or bad)
Let me alone. To trouble me, Alas you are to blame.
Iocaſta O woofull ſoul O wretched hart Why doſt thou faint alas?
Why doeſt thou ſeek and toile in vain theſe ills to ouerpas.
What meane theſe ſighs and boiling teares? Why doſt y^u pains refuſe?
Thou mate of all his miſchiefs thou, by whoſe means only rues
The law of nature all: by whom Ah, Ah, counfonnded lies,
Both god and man and beeſt and all that either liues or dies.
Die y^u. diſpatch at once. thruſt through thy vile inceſtruous breſt.
Not thou if god him ſelf, if he his flaming fiers ſhould throw
On thee, or miſcheifs all by heaps vpon thy body ſtrow
Couldſt once repay dew payns for thy deſerued yls.
(Thou filthy wretche: Thou wicked Mother thou.)
Death death now beſt cōtenteth me than ſeeke a way to dye.
ſo mayſt thou yet at length find ende for this thy myſerye.
O Son lend me thy hand, yf that thou art a Paracide?
This labour laſt of all remayns: this labour thee doth byde.
Diſpatche rid me thy Mother deare from all my wretched woe.
It wyll not be. No praiers moue. Thy ſelfe this deed muſt doe.
Take vp this ſword. Go to. With this thy huſband once was ſlayn.
Thy Huſband? Thou termſt him fals. Thy father he was. O dedly payn.
ſhall I quight through my breſt or through my throte it thruſt?
Canſt y^u not chooſe thy wound? Away dye dye, alas thou muſt.
This breſt. This wombe. Than woūd this, this, with thyne own hand.
ſtrike, perce, and ſpare it not: whiche both a Huſband: and
(The ſame a ſon dyd beare.

Chorus. Alas alas, ſhe is ſlayne, ſhe is ſlayne, diſpatched with a puſh:
Who euer ſawe the lyke to this: ſe how the blud doth guſh
From out her wounded breſt. (O heuy dolfull Caſe.)
Oedipus Thou God. Thou teller out of fates. On thee, on thee, I call,
My Father onely I dyd owe, vnto the Deſtenies all.
Now twyſe a Paracide and more than I dyd feare miſcheuous
My Mother I haue ſlayne. Alas I am the cauſe. Its thus.
O Oedipus accurſed wretche, lament thyne owne Calamitie,
Lament thy ſtate, thy gryefe lament, thou Caytyfe borne to myſerye.
Where wylt thou become alas? Thy face where wylt thou hyde:
O myſerable ſlaue, canſt thou ſuche ſhamefull torments byde?
Canſt y^u which haſt thy Parents ſlain Canſt thou prolong thy lyfe?
Wilt thou not dye? deſeruyng Death Thou cauſe of all the gryefe
And Plages, & dredfull miſchiefs all that Thebane Cytie preas.
Why doſt thou ſeeke by longer lyfe. thy ſorowes to encreas?
Why doſt thou toyle and labour thus in vayne? It wyll not bee.
Both God and man: and beaſt, and all abhorre thy face to ſee.
O Earth why gapſt thou not for me? Why do you not vnfold
Your ſelfs you gates of Hel me to receyue? Why do you hence w^thold
The fyerce infernall Feends frō me, from me ſo wretched wyght?
Why breake not all the Furyes loſe? this hatefull hed to ſmyght
With Plages: whiche them deſerued hath Alas I am left alone
Both lyght, and ſyght, and comfort all from me (O wretche) is gone.
O curſed hed: O wicked wyght, whom all men deadly hate.
O Beaſt what meanſt y^u ſtyll to lyue in this vnhappy ſtate.
The ſkies do bluſh and are aſhamd, at theſe thy miſchiefs great:
The earth laments, the heauēs weepe the ſeas for rage do freat.
And bluſtring ryſe, & ſtormes do ſtyr, and all thou wretche for the:
By whoſe inceſtuous lothſom luſt all thyngs dyſturbed be.
Quight out of courſe diſplaced quight O curſed fatall daye.
O miſchiefs great. O dredfull tymes O wretche, away awaye.
Exyle thy ſelfe from all mens ſyght thy lyfe halfe ſpent in myſerye.
Go ende: conſume it now outright: in thriſe as great Calamitie.
O lyeng Phebe I haue done more than my Deſtnie was to do.
With trēblyng fearfull pace go forth. thou wretched Monſter go.
Grope out thy waies on knees in darke thou myſerable ſlaue.
So maiſt thou yet in tract of tyme, due paynes and vengeaunce haue
For thy miſcheuous lyfe: Thus thus, the Gods themſelues decree:
Thus thus thi fates: thus thus y^e ſkies appoynt it for to bee.
Than headlong hence: with a miſchief hence O Caytife vile away:
Away, away, thou monſtrous Beaſt Go. Ron. ſtand. ſtay.
Leſt on thy Mother thou do fall.)
All you that weryed bodyes haue, with ſyckenes ouerpreſt:
Loe nowe I flye: I flye awaye. The cauſe of your vnreſt,
(I flye.)
Lyft vp your heads: A better ſtate of Ayer ſhall ſtraight enſewe,
Whan I am gone for whom alone theſe dredfull miſchiefs grewe.
And you that now, halfe dead yet liue in wretched myſers caſe,
Help thoſe whō preſent tormēts pres forth, hye you on apace.
For loe, with me I carry hence all miſchiefs vnder ſkies.
All cruell fates, Diſeaſes all that for my ſake dyd ryſe,
With me they go: with me, both grief Plage, Pocks, Botch, and all
The yls that eyther now you pres or euer after ſhall.
With me they go. With me, w^t me. Theſe Mates ben meetſt of all
(For me.)

FINIS.

Peruſed and allovved accordyng to the Quenes Maieſties Iniunctions.

Faults eſcaped in the Pryntinge.

In C. the .5. Page the .5. line reade in the margent Creon. the ſame page the 6. line reade in the margent Oedipus. E. the .8. Page the laſt vers for this rede his E. the laſt Page the .7. vers for where wilt thou become alas rede where wilt thou now become alas.

Imprynted at London in ſainct Brydes Churchyarde: oueragaynſte the North Doore of the CHURCHE, by Thomas Colwell.