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To listen and what in me lies to do;
Nor feel my people's sorrows as my own.
O Edipus, our Father, and our King!
Who saved them once, by worse to perish now.
Alas, my children! telling me of that
How more than any man among you, I,
And to the people who proclaimed me King. Chorus - Your words are as a breath from Delphi, King,
Prophetic of itself; for even now
That he whose coming all await is here.
The moving multitude divides - Phoebus!
Auspicious as well-timed!
And shall no less; For look! the laurel wreath about his brow Can but announce the herald of Success.
Oh, let impatience for the word you bring
Be but the word as welcome! -
As it shall,
Enshrines his answer.
Speak! for till I hear, I know not whether most to hope or fear.
Am I to speak before the people here,
Or to yourself within ?
Here, before all,
To all then thus:
Within her walls the slayer of her King."
The slayer of her King ? What king ?
That much of Oracle, methinks, is plain.
A story rises on me from the past.
I know indeed, but him I never saw.
foot Over the country's threshold. Edipus —
Slain! By whom? Creon —
That to divine were to interpret all
On some such sacred mission as myself.
Yet of those roving outlaws, one at least
Yet breathes among us in the heart of Thebes. Creon -
So saith the Oracle. Edipus
In the midst of all