With one attendant, who, I never thought,
Would come to such a depth of ignominy,
As she, poor girl, has fallen to, who still,
Caring for thee, and that poor face of thine,750
In beggar's guise lives on,—at her age too,
Unsought in marriage, to the lust exposed
Of any passing stranger. Woe is me!
Is it not foul reproach of which I spake,
Reproaching thee, and me, and all thy race?
Yet, since 'tis vain to hide what all men see,
Do thou, by all my country's Gods, give ear,
And list to me, Ο Œdipus, and hide them,
As thou can'st do, if willing to return
To thine own city, and thy father's house,
To this state here a kindly farewell giving,
For it is worthy. But thine own that nursed
Thee long ago may claim yet more regard.760
Œdip. Ο shameless one, all daring! weaving still
Some crafty scheme from every righteous word,
Why triest thou again, and fain would'st take
Me prisoner, where I most should grieve to be?
For long ago, when I was mad with woe,
And I had joyed to leave the land for aye,
Thou would'st not grant this boon to me who asked;
But when my wrath was sated, saner grown,
And it was pleasant to abide at home,
Then did'st thou thrust me, drive me out by force,770
And kinship then had little weight with thee.
And now again, when thou dost see this state
Is friendly to me, it, and all its race,
Thou fain would'st drag me off, with glozing words
Hard purpose masking. But what profits it
To show thy love to men against their will?
Just as if one, when thou did'st seek and beg,
Should give thee nought, nor even wish to help,
