'Ye gods! that o'er the gloomy regions reign, Where guilty spirits feel eternal pain; Thou, sable Styx! whose livid streams are roll'd Through dreary coasts, which I though blind behold; Tisiphone! that oft hast heard my prayer, Assist, if Oedipus deserve thy care. If you received me from Jocasta's womb, And nursed the hope of mischiefs yet to come; If, leaving Polybus, I took my way To Cyrrha's temple, on that fatal day 90 When by the son the trembling father died, Where the three roads the Phocian fields divide; If I the Sphynx's riddles durst explain, Taught by thyself to win the promised reign; If wretched I, by baleful Furies led, With monstrous mixture stain'd my mother's bed, For hell and thee begot an impious brood, And with full lust those horrid joys renew'd; Then, self-condemn'd to shades of endless night, Forced from these orbs the bleeding balls of sight; 100 Oh, hear! and aid the vengeance I require, If worthy thee, and what thou might'st inspire! My sons their old, unhappy sire despise, Spoil'd of his kingdom, and deprived of eyes; Guideless I wander, unregarded mourn, Whilst these exalt their sceptres o'er my urn: These sons, ye gods! who with flagitious pride Insult my darkness and my groans deride. Art thou a father, unregarding Jove! And sleeps thy thunder in the realms above? 110 Thou Fury! then some lasting curse entail, Which o'er their children's children shall prevail; Place on their heads that crown, distain'd with gore, Which these dire hands from my slain father tore; Go! and a parent's heavy curses bear; Break all the bonds of nature, and prepare Their kindred souls to mutual hate and war. Give them to dare, what I might wish to see, Blind as I am, some glorious villany! Soon shalt thou find, if thou but arm their hands, 120 Their ready guilt preventing thy commands: Couldst thou some great proportion'd mischief frame, They'd prove the father from whose loins they came.'