My station here: I yet am innocent,
But in obeying thee I should be guilty.
Of all the blessings heaven bestowed upon me,
My honor and my fame alone remain
Untouched. O! do not rob me of a treasure
So precious to me; do not make me thus
Unworthy of Jocaste. I have lived,
Lived to fulfil the fate allotted to me;
Have passed my sacred word to Œdipus,
And whatsoever suspicions he may cherish,
I am a stranger to the breach of honor.
JOCASTE.
O Philoctetes, let me here entreat thee,
By the just gods, by that ill-fated passion,
Which once inspired thy breast, if aught remains
Of tender friendship, if thou still rememberest
How much my happiness on thine depended,
Deign to prolong a glorious life, and days
That should have been united with Jocaste.
PHILOCTETES.
To thee devoted I would have them still
In equal tenor flow, and worthy of thee;
I've lived far from thee, and shall die content,
If thy regard attends me to the tomb.
Who knows but heaven may yet refuse to see
This bloody sacrifice; perhaps, in mercy
It guided me to Thebes to save Jocaste;
Shortened my days, perhaps, to lengthen thine.
Happy event! the blood of innocence
May be accepted; mine is not unworthy.
